


Beyond The Darkening Road

by brutumfulmen



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Fairy Tale Elements, God Moves in Mysterious and Slightly Ominous Ways, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-02-16 08:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 56,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21504613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutumfulmen/pseuds/brutumfulmen
Summary: Aziraphale has only known one touch his entire life - his hand in the grasp of this strange man he wed today.The next Aziraphale is not sure he will ever receive. His lord husband is more difficult to understand than the existence of that odd garden on these frozen lands he now lived within, and far darker than each shadow along the walls of this ancient manor he must call home.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 220
Kudos: 478
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To conceal the plot some things will not be tagged.
> 
> With that, enjoy.

Aziraphale awoke shivering.

“Oh,” he breathed out into the chilly air as a hand rubbed at his eyes to clear away the remnants of sleep, reluctant to let the last tendrils of warmth he had felt in his dreams depart from him.

“What a peculiar dream.”

Winter was on its way, and while the weather was usually merciful in how deep its bite was this far south, along the windows with their curtains billowing aside Aziraphale could see the hint of a frost that has never touched these lands in all his years alive. How odd a season they were to have, strange weather for strange dreams he supposed.

Aziraphale tutted at the draft creaking in through the glass panes and marked his place in the book that had fallen to his chest during his nap to stand and pull the curtains shut, leaving him with only glow of candlelight. With the flicker of his desk’s candle caught by the curls of wind, he blinked as long shadows were cast about the room. His eye followed one to its destination, a corner where the bookshelves weighed heavy and sat cloaked in shadow.

Never before has it been so dark in this part of the library, he pondered to himself, unsure why his eye was locked into that obscured corner, why he felt so cold.

As he shivered again, he tore his eyes away from the darkness and rummaged through his desk’s drawers to pull out another candle. Fumbling the flint and matchstick with stiff hands for a moment he sighed in relief as the flame burst to life and the corners of the room were illuminated once more.

“Aziraphale!”

“Oh, drat,” he murmured and straightened up from the candle’s warmth to eye the stack of books and forms with a grimace. How long had he been asleep? Those orders were not going to be sent out today, and he hoped that was not what his cousin was calling for.

A low whistle crept in as the windows rattled from the window outside and he froze before he tugged his waistcoat into place, laughing nervously at himself. How ridiculous he was being, this nap has not helped him as much as he might have hoped earlier.

Aziraphale heard a more impatient call of his name, and with one last look around the room, eye drawn to the shifting curtains, he departed and closed the door tight behind him.

Before he was halfway down the stairs Gabriel could be heard talking in that familiar clipped way to several low voices. It must be some of their relatives unexpectedly dropping by. Gabriel despised when they did that and so did Aziraphale, but he tended to be more accommodating of the matter.

As Aziraphale reached the bottom steps, he caught sight of a group of figures that were decidedly not their relatives. Instead they were covered in dark robes, the hoods pulled down low over their faces to obscure all but their mouths which cut in sharp, flat lines across their jaws even as they talked to Gabriel, who appeared more flustered than Aziraphale has ever seen in recent times.

“Aziraphale, glad you could join us!” Gabriel greeted and spun around to face him with a wide smile, hands clasped behind his back in nonchalance despite having been surrounded by the looming group who all were now looking at Aziraphale. He sucked in a breath and flushed, goodness, must they do that?

“Good afternoon,” he tried to smile, polite as ever. “I was not aware we were to receive guests.”

Gabriel’s smile did not move an inch, and the sight of it sent Aziraphale’s pulse higher.

“Yes, guests! Well these-” he glanced over the shrouded figures, “-people, have apparently come all the way from the north to deliver a message.”

A shrouded figure stepped forward under Gabriel’s sharp eye and Aziraphale swallowed the knot in his throat as a flutter batted about his chest upon the figure’s approach. They stared down at Aziraphale, who could not see anything beyond the shadows concealing their face. In a fit of self-consciousness, he brought his hands up to adjust his cravat, then smoothed down the front of his waistcoat. He really must stop with this habit, he could almost sense the thought projecting directly from Gabriel’s mind into his.

After a tense second where no one in the room seemed to breathe, the figure held out a simple envelope, already sliced open.

“Oh, well thank y—” Aziraphale reached out for it.

“Ah, ah, ah let _me_ take that,” Gabriel stepped forward and snatched the envelope from the figure’s grip to a chorus of mutters from the group which he pointedly ignored. In a quick shuffle he plucked the letter out and unfolded it with an odd glance over to Aziraphale before he looked down at the letter in his hand.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Aziraphale of House Caelum, you have been summoned to-” his eyes narrowed into a squint, scanned the letter again, then his brows raised. “-represent the Caelum family in a marital joining with a designated lord of the Inferius to unite both families in a mutually agreeable arrangement for—”

Aziraphale heard a rushing between his ears that sounded uncannily like how wind battered against the windows upstairs in the library, how the glass creaked and shuddered from the force.

“Wait a moment, what is this?” Gabriel snapped, waved the letter angrily as he strode along the wall of figures who kept their focus on Aziraphale, and he felt their scrutiny like a physical weight. His hands began to shake as he clutched at the hem of his waistcoat. “Aziraphale is under my roof and I am his guardian,” he continued louder this time and the shrouded figures finally looked to Gabriel, shifting in discomfort at the boom of his voice as it echoed through the sterile house. Gabriel was absolutely enraged now it seemed, and Aziraphale sidled away from the pressure of a dozen shadowed eyes flicking between them both.

“You come here with some letter from your so-called lord _demanding_ the Caelum family agree to this insult of an arrangement—”

It happened a lot sooner than he expected and Aziraphale swallowed his heart as the figures contracted forward around them both until Gabriel and Aziraphale were encircled. They were ready to steal Aziraphale away by force if necessary, the threat hung in the air under the shrouded figures’ impenetrable silence. Realising this the same time as his cousin did, Aziraphale stepped back and Gabriel moved to shield him, arm cast out as the figures stopped. Gabriel nearly looked about to snarl as one lone figure came forward from the closed ranks, but they did not reach for either of them.

Another letter was presented, and the room went still along with Aziraphale’s heart, for he was certain it stopped.

“For you,” a voice whispered, not from the one holding the letter out, perhaps not from any of them. At his side Gabriel gave an intake of breath, and that is when Aziraphale saw it. The envelope bore a wax seal in a familiar saturated apple red, and within its insignia lay a complex arrangement of purest gold.

The Caelum matriarch’s personal seal.

Aziraphale looked up to Gabriel, but his cousin’s eyes were locked on the envelope in his hands.

“Open it,” the figure implored, and Gabriel glared at them before he nodded to Aziraphale. The envelope was peeled open with a careful break of the seal, and as he unfolded the letter to reveal the most perfect handwriting imaginable, Aziraphale knew this was no forgery.

It read:

_‘Aziraphale of House Caelum,_

_I, the matriarch of the Caelum Family and estate, approve of this arrangement._

_You are to accept.’_

His eyes jumped over the page for any other words past her indiscernible but unmistakable signature in the lower right-hand corner. He searched for some hidden form of absolution against what felt like the floor falling out from underneath him. Aziraphale trembled, letter shaking in his damp grip and raised his gaze to Gabriel’s, pleading for an answer as to what is happening.

Gabriel’s expression shifted through a series of complex reactions, before he contorted it into a grin that chilled Aziraphale to the bone. This was terrible, if that was all Gabriel could muster for him.

“Congratulations, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said and opened his hands in the imitation of a hug neither would partake of. Around them the shadowed ranks were an unforgiving vigil.

“We have a wedding to arrange for you.”

Aziraphale’s wedding has already been arranged, apparently. Neither Gabriel nor Aziraphale knew how to respond when the Inferius, as they seemed to be called, mentioned this offhandedly after Gabriel implied their surrender. A figure Aziraphale’s height dropped a thick sheaf of papers into his numb hands and without another word they departed as a single entity from the house.

The rest of the day went by in horrific silence. Not even the household servants seemed able to speak and went about their duties around Aziraphale as though he was not there. It was not malicious, he knew, rather out of respect for him but still the isolation was so brutal he locked himself away in the library and buried his head in the first book he picked up.

Aziraphale learned about the contents of the papers after Gabriel read through them, but from what he had glanced at earlier before his cousin plucked them from his hands seemed to contain directions and instructions for finding where the wedding would be in spiky, neat handwriting. The first series of instructions was simple, in one week’s time they would board a train out of a station three towns over and depart for the north-eastern lands in which Aziraphale was to take up ownership with his betrothed of somewhere called the Nusquam estate.

Betrothed, the word derailed his thoughts each time it came up as he tried to reread whole passages, until it lurked around every corner in his mind. He closed the book with a sigh.

Among the other documents that Gabriel gleaned his way through that day were agreements on conduct and expectations of the joined couple along with Aziraphale’s responsibilities.

“For what it’s worth,” Gabriel called Aziraphale into his office later that evening to relay this, and paused to take his reading spectacles off and rub at his tired eyes. “The matriarch’s hand must have been involved in this arrangement. Handwriting is atrocious, however, whoever she had inscribe this needs to be pushed from a very great height.”

Aziraphale’s head shot up at the harsh threat but Gabriel was looking once more through the paperwork, although he has read it a half dozen times by now.

“Not a single aspect leaves you or the Caelum family in a bad situation. You’re pretty much free to live as you want, so long as you reside on the Nusquam estate with whoever this…” Gabriel shuffled through the papers and put his glasses back only to still squint. “…lord, whose name I cannot read under all this smeared ink good _gracious_ , happens to be.”

Aziraphale stared over Gabriel’s shoulder out the window where the grey sky was dipping into night, unable to find a positive in any of that.

Gabriel set the papers aside, folded his arms over himself as he leaned back in the old chair and winced as it creaked ominously. This was the matriarch’s office first, and Gabriel, no matter what he tried was clearly not comfortable sitting there despite these long years occupying it.

“We are a respectable family, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not quite sure what the nobility of some foreign country wants with us. Especially when there is no talk of business or trade agreements? What do we have to offer in this arrangement that they want so badly?”

 _Me, I suppose,_ Aziraphale thought with a hint of hysteria built around the edges of his mind.

Gabriel tapped his index finger to his lips as he turned the question through his mind as one would hold a prism to the light. “The matriarch determined this family out of all others to be the best one to join with ours, and she chose you in order to do so. I’m not one to question her usually, but why not one of her own children? I wouldn’t be pleased to wed into such a situation but that would make more sense than-”

“That is all fine and well,” Aziraphale interrupted, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers as desperation tipped into his voice. “But there is no way this is truly, that I am really to.” He looked down at his lap, unable to continue, but from the quiet shift across from him, he knew Gabriel understood as he always did when words failed. It was why he head the family and not an older, more experienced relative. It was how he kept their headstrong lineage from the brink of disaster time and again.

In lieu of a family-salvaging or business-uniting response though, Gabriel just sighed. There was another shuffle of papers.

“With the matriarch’s seal atop everything I don’t see a way out of this, Aziraphale. I really don’t.”

The whistle of the train horn signalled for them to board, and the movement of Gabriel at his side with their luggage had him climbing up the steps on wooden legs. It was a modern train, warm and well-kept, and Aziraphale was grateful the Inferius family had thought to arrange their departure from this station as opposed to the older one within the Caelum family’s hometown.

His gratitude immediately smothered itself when he considered why he was on this train to begin with.

“We’re in the sixth compartment, further down,” said Gabriel behind him, and Aziraphale moved forward away from his thoughts.

Gabriel waited patiently at the door to their compartment as Aziraphale sorted himself out, unwilling to risk coming into contact with Aziraphale by accident. There was not a cruelty that exists between them in this regard; it is the way their family has existed and operated for centuries. Aziraphale knew Gabriel endured the same measure of physical restriction, albeit his obligations and responsibilities allowed him further reach and broader freedoms in the endless balancing act that was taking care of the various members of the Caelum family after the matriarch vanished.

Whether or not she has been made aware that the arrangement she agreed upon was now in effect, Aziraphale did not know. In the days preceding their departure for Nusquam, he caught Gabriel oftentimes staring out any available window of the estate, a finger rest on his chin, eyes distant in contemplation.

He wondered if Gabriel ever felt as lost as he did without her around.

“I pride myself on being our family’s facilitator, Aziraphale,” Gabriel’s voice jolted Aziraphale from his reverie, and he turned away from the window to face his cousin, sitting stiff in the carriage. Gabriel’s gloved hands are clasped in his lap, his own gaze fixated on the floor.

“You certainly do the family name justice in that regard,” Aziraphale offered, unsure of what is expected in a reply here. Gabriel did not seem to notice he had spoken, as he did not acknowledge the complement.

“Navigating not just you but the sprawl of our family throughout the region and even those on tours away from our sphere of influence is not nearly as challenging as trying to read between the lines of this arrangement you have already been signed off for in.” Gabriel looked away and rubbed at his jaw with an odd smile. Not the one he wore when Aziraphale had an idea Gabriel found ridiculous and would enjoy letting him know just how much so.

It was the one he had kept plastered to his face around the vultures of their family all those years ago, back when the matriarch vanished and left him in charge with little to go on but a series of volumes dictating what was acceptable for the family, and how to accomplish it. Aziraphale was young then, just into his teenage years, while Gabriel was barely old enough to take care of his younger siblings and cousins, let alone head an entire family.

Aziraphale read through one of those volumes once, long after Gabriel had thrown it aside in frustration over how to handle an unruly distant uncle not reporting his earnings properly. Even Aziraphale found the matriarch’s dictations impossible to read, and he prided himself on loving all forms of literature.

The sheer complexity and rigid structure with which the Caelum matriarch ran their family demanded a great deal of them all in exchange for the immense comfort and prosperity they have enjoyed all these years. Everything from conduct amongst one another to how they parted their hair had been recorded, while on the next page she might provide insight into how they were to handle the family taxes. All of it was listed there in a nightmarish conglomeration wrought by her careful, almost typist handwriting.

Aziraphale knew Gabriel must have torn through each volume in an attempt to find an answer to this situation, he trusted his cousin had done his best. Therefore, his recalcitrant attitude as of the past few days preceding their departure no doubt meant he could not find a single solution. A truly devastating blow, as Gabriel relied on those books for helping him ensure their family’s safety and survival.

Briefly, Aziraphale pitied his cousin and the web of obligation and legalese he was caught within. Then he remembered his own situation, and how Gabriel was not the one bartered off in marriage to some far-off lord for an undetermined cause.

He really wished the matriarch were still around to at least explain her reasoning. What would a distant lord want with their family, with him?

Aziraphale was merely a cousin, having dedicated his time to maintaining all records for the Caelum family along with their entire book collection, which has grown to occupy the entire northern wing of the family estate through no small part under Aziraphale’s fastidious care. While at times he would aid Gabriel in the acquisition of important texts, an area his cousin severely lacked expertise in, usually he assisted their family by locating requested books in the library and checking them out. His heart clenched each time he watched their graceless hands mishandle the books he viewed as treasure and would inevitably spend a good amount of effort restoring them upon their return to the safety of the library.

Outside of that, he possessed no status or influence in society, desired after neither. A nervous burn tickled his throat as he wondered about his betrothed’s expectations of him. Would this lord demand he integrate with the nobility, and how terrible a fate would he suffer should he fail to do so?

“At first when they arrived, I was certain there must be some mistake,” Gabriel continued and yanked Aziraphale out of his jumbled thoughts. He looked over at his cousin slouched in his seat, his prematurely greying hair mussed in a manner most unbecoming a gentleman of his station.

“My mother,” Gabriel paused, furrowed his brow and Aziraphale looked away embarrassed. What impropriety. “The Caelum matriarch having approved of this without leaving any indication within her doctrine is—” At this Gabriel stopped himself once more, bobbed his head to the side as he attempted to navigate what potentially could be inflammatory words against their matriarch, Aziraphale assumed.

It is amazing anyone in this family was able to speak at all, he thought bitterly before admonishing himself.

“…Not her custom, for the most part. I must have overlooked it in the past during my readings.”

Unlikely, Aziraphale considered, despite his surprise at Gabriel admitting to a potential failure. Gabriel was not nearly as particular as Michael for detail, possessed a thorough determination for ensuring the entire family abide by the matriarch’s writings.

“Was it written about,” Aziraphale cast his gaze about, to their luggage overhead, to the passengers walking by their car, before settling back on a waiting Gabriel. “In another volume she left somewhere else?” With another relative, he feared to add.

Gabriel remained silent as his mouth thinned in obvious displeasure and Aziraphale winced. He might have touched on a nerve, one that Gabriel had worried over in his own mind without needing Aziraphale to expose.

The matriarch has conducted family business in volatile ways before in the past, several of which had far reaching consequences. As a result not every decision she made was documented, nor was every rule. Gabriel was playing this by ear Aziraphale can see, and the notion repulsed him.

A tense silence passed, then Gabriel cleared his throat.

“Anyways, upon our return - excuse me, _my_ return, I will continue to look for something in regard to all this.” Gabriel’s voice clipped off, fingers drumming along his knee where the folio containing the paperwork they received was propped.

“Speaking of - this Inferius family, why have we never heard of them before? Not once has the Caelum matriarch documented their existence, nothing in the financial records to show we have some sort of history with them. For all we know they are a family of con artists and thieves hoping to secure a tie to our family’s estate.”

“And yet,” Aziraphale hated how his voice shook. “They had the matriarch’s personal seal, her handwriting. The arrangement they handed us might not have been in her handwriting, but it _was_ blessed by her.”

“Yes,” Gabriel replied, uncharacteristically thoughtful. “Yes, it was. Bastards.”

Aziraphale could not withhold the gust of breath he let out in lieu of a laugh, and he caught the twitch of Gabriel’s lips.

As the train roared over the countryside, conversation unexpectedly turned to lighter topics. Aziraphale shared the latest in a long-standing battle with an uncle of theirs that continuously implored he come try his hand at horseback riding to which Gabriel shook his head and suggested Aziraphale accept the invitation only to have Gabriel show up instead.

In turn Gabriel lamented Uriel’s latest determination to invest in what they claimed would replace candlelight, while Aziraphale countered that perhaps this time they would not immediately attempt to buy the patent before the invention was proven successful. When the dining trolley came to their compartment, he ordered them tea and listened with rapt attention to Gabriel’s elaborate plans for convincing their town to embrace some interesting contraption called a telegraph. Gabriel nearly spilled tea all over his suit as he rambled about how the future lay in global communication no matter how much Sandalphon insisted that anything but the printing press would lead to disaster, and his alarmingly accurate mimicry of the other man’s insipid voice had Aziraphale laughing harder than he has in months.

When Gabriel joined in, more subdued but laughing all the same, a realisation struck Aziraphale. They never had so much fun together in the past, never spoken so freely from outside the confines of their ancestral home. Somewhere left of centre within his chest ached from the pressing urge to grieve all those years not knowing this was possible with his cousin.

Gabriel sighed as their laughter faded, the entire situation once more at the forefront of his mind no doubt, and with great reluctance Aziraphale bid their conversation goodbye.

“Shame your future relatives were not willing to give us a name for your betrothed, or even their own. You can tell they aren’t from around here, did not bother to even stay for dinner.” His broad hands tapped atop the already empty teacup, never one to savour his food or drink like Aziraphale preferred.

“Given how far north they are, I’m sure custom differs greatly. Hopefully we will learn them upon our arrival. Would not be polite to keep us in the dark for long.” Aziraphale brought his teacup to his lips and hid the frail smile he wore as Gabriel nodded deeply in agreement as though relieved by Aziraphale’s optimism.

“Shall we be expecting anyone from our side at the -” Aziraphale choked on a mouthful of hot tea, coughed as it burnt his tongue. “Pardon, at the ceremony?”

“My siblings will be there, of course,” Gabriel shrugged, flipping through the folio for what Aziraphale assumed to be the tenth time. “There would have been great recourse if they were not invited to the wedding, demanding creatures they are. In return for an invite Uriel agreed to lend a hand should you need assistance with anything.”

His shock must have shown as Gabriel snorted quite improperly. Caught out, Aziraphale cleared his throat to cover his fluster.

“I- I will be certain to give my thanks to our family for attending...”

“Don’t bother,” Gabriel waved a hand in the air as though shooing a fly away. “They are obligated to assist should we call upon them as members of the Caelum family. And until they supersede my authority, which the Caelum matriarch herself implemented, that is how things are going to stay.”

Aziraphale knew the moment they passed into the lands surrounding Nusquam by how frost crackled across the train car's windows in spidery patterns, and soon his breath puffed cloudy before him. A deep ache settled upon his shoulders, the urge to shiver rising up from underneath his skin.

This was nothing like winter back home. Although, he remembered the frost gathering on his home’s windows, and wondered what why it was so similar.

With a grunt of effort Gabriel stood to take down a piece of luggage containing their cold-weather items. Flicking the locks open he pulled out two fair-coloured, heavy wool coats out along with their gloves and scarves.

“We are getting close, another hour or so now.”

“Do we know anything about this region?” Aziraphale asked, tugging the scarf tight around his neck before he reached for the thick leather gloves while Gabriel slipped on his own. Both sets were purchased recently from the leatherworkers in a neighbouring village at an exorbitant premium given the mild weather of the south, but they had few options with such short notice.

Gabriel had been so irritated upon their return home he wrote out an invoice to present to the lord, which Aziraphale discarded when he was not looking. Meeting his future betrothed with a list of grievances would not be how Aziraphale planned to start his marriage off.

Marriage _._ The word manifested itself within the tremble of his jaw.

“It’s in a deep valley,” Gabriel slid the pale grey coat over his broad shoulders. “Whole upper half of the country is constantly under snowfall based on the weather records I was able to find.”

Aziraphale paused from tugging his thicker gloves into place to look over at Gabriel. “Constantly under snowfall? Are we that far north?” Snow was rare, almost unheard of in their native countryside, would there be any sunlight at all up there?

His heart sank at the prospect of darkness year-round, an endless winter.

Gabriel hummed absently as he took Aziraphale’s carefully folded overcoat and shoved it into the luggage. Aziraphale, pulled from one distress to another, swallowed his pained noise at the mishandling. He loved that coat. 

“Something about mountain winds and a whole bunch of other nonsense you’d be better asking them about. Although from what I've read, the first storm is expected relatively soon.” Gabriel threw the luggage back up over their heads and settled once more across from Aziraphale, both of them warmer.

“All I know is we are definitely not in our territory anymore. First thing I’ll need to do is see if anyone we know is nearby and have them help establish a way for you to communicate back home.”

Aziraphale looked once more to the window, now opaque with a thick layer of ice. The roar of the train increased in volume the further into the storm they rode, and Aziraphale could hear one of the train conductors from further down the car talking in a raised voice. There was a shout and the entire train shook and with a weak flicker the overhead candlelight died. They both looked up, then back to one another through the darkness. Outside the wind howled.

“Well,” Aziraphale’s teeth chattered. “I’m sure that bodes good fortune for us.”

Gabriel did not reply.

Aziraphale breathed deep, enraptured by how the cold, crisp air cleared his lungs and upon a slow exhale it clouded his vision before wisping away in what seemed to be the ever-present gentle winds of Nusquam.

They were not in the same weather as the horrible snowstorm which had signified their entrance into the region, instead it was far calmer, almost tranquil. As the thick frost had faded from the train windows, he could see the distant lights of the villages of the valley, and delight bloomed in his chest as he saw there was life out here and not just an empty piece of land with a hollow manor in the middle.

Even Gabriel reluctantly agreed when Aziraphale mentioned how lovely the place was, although he complained right after about the difficulty in getting here.

The ride to the estate was uneventful, a blessing in Aziraphale’s opinion. A large sleigh, pulled by the oddest animals - reindeer, Gabriel guessed in a low voice – had been waiting for them outside the station with the rest of their luggage already loaded. As they took off, the driver welcomed them with a smile and chatted merrily about the region, a soft accent on their tongue. Aziraphale had conversed politely before he sat back to look around out at the other sleigh-goers which raced past them on the road and at the stout, glimmering buildings so unlike the homes down south.

Gabriel talked the majority of the way with the driver, mostly about local roadway and communication systems in and out of the region, to which the driver responded with ever-increasing humour in their voice.

Eventually, after Gabriel asked the fifth question about wire transfers and Aziraphale had shrunken fully in his seat, the driver barked out a deep laugh.

“You will find, mister Caelum, that we of the Nusquam region have all we need out here,” the driver said good-naturedly and the reindeer pair closest to the sleigh made low noises of interest at their master’s laughter. “Your ‘communications’ as you call them make their way like they would anywhere else. It is a wonderful place to live, be assured.”

Aziraphale smiled as Gabriel crossed his arms but accepted the driver’s answer. At least the locals were friendly, and it did seem wonderful so far, Aziraphale admit to himself as a sleigh going the opposite way waved to them.

After another hour or so, Aziraphale could not keep track with everything under snow including the roads and the sky a steady shade of grey overhead, the bustle of the village life faded and they entered onto a part of the road canopied by thick, bowing trees.

“We’re almost to the estate,” the driver called back over to them, and Aziraphale pulled his coat tighter as the wind picked up.

Fresh snow crunched underfoot; the entire estate glittered in a blanket of pure white underneath dreary skies. Aziraphale took in the courtyard, or tried to from what the garden walls did not conceal, but his eye caught further out, far beyond the lavish, impressive greenery to see what he assumed to be the Nusquam manor, a pitch black monolith of an estate.

He gulped as he took in the ominous spires that lined the rooftop and tugged his scarf looser around his neck.

Heavens.

“Where is the lord of the Nusquam estate,” Gabriel called out without any proper greeting to the waiting host and stood in front of Aziraphale as if to guard him even though his gloved hands were clenched tight behind his back.

“I assumed he would be here to greet his guests like _nobility_ should.” Aziraphale winced as each enshrouded figure’s sharp mouth fell from neutrality into distaste. Gabriel never was one to do anything in half-measures, including express his own dissatisfaction with a situation regardless of how deep into uncharted territory he was.

The shortest of the Inferius stepped forward, their stature and rather high voice belied how the other figures shifted back.

“The lord of Nusquam is to stand on tradition and not meet with his betrothed until the wedding ceremony.” A grim stretch of colourless lips, and Aziraphale shivered, at how their eyes must gleam from under that dark hood.

“Surely the head of the Caelum family could appreciate such _gracious_ considerations, yes?”

Gabriel turned bright red and he puffed up in near boiling indignation. With panicked clarity Aziraphale rushed forward, knowing this was about to go horribly wrong.

“Yes! Yes, we are very grateful for the lord’s discretion in abiding by tradition, yes, ah- please give him my- our regards,” Aziraphale hurried to reply lest Gabriel crush every cultural custom these people have before they even get through the front door.

A flush warmed his face under the turning of all heads towards him, but the Inferius seemed to relax. Gabriel behind him huffed under his breath, and Aziraphale did not bother acknowledging it.

The walk up to the manor, an impressively well-kept estate upon closer inspection, was near immediate as the Inferius wasted no time in taking their items and ushering the sleigh driver away with little more than a farewell. Aziraphale had still lifted his hand to match the driver’s parting wave even as the Inferius figures closed rank to block his view.

“The ceremony will begin with two hours’ time,” the figure Aziraphale remembered as closest to his height said to them both on their ascent up ice-slicked steps, Aziraphale’s grip on the railing a near stranglehold. “If you need time to prepare yourselves or change into different attire there are rooms nearby for your use.”

Another figure came up beside them to open the large door, taller than even Gabriel, but just by a smidgen.

“The rest of your family has already prepared for the ceremony and will meet you shortly.”

“The… rest of our family?” Aziraphale asked in a small voice as he looked around the manor’s entryway with awe at how the floors, an expensive looking black stone, shone in contrast to the warm red and gold that filled the walls and furnishings. There was very little decoration, but Aziraphale found it to work somehow, despite the vastness of the place. Illuminating the entire room was a massive chandelier that made even Gabriel whistle in appreciation while Aziraphale tried to count the individual candles lit within it and found they all seemed to blur together. He could see two sets of staircases towards the back of leading up to different wings of the manor and what seemed be numerous doors to various types of rooms and hallways.

This truly was a lord’s residence.

“There is an atrium towards the back where the ceremony will take place.” The shorter figure pointed down the way to a massive set of doors situated between the staircases. “Between here and the atrium is another room where you relatives currently are. It is where _you_ ,” Aziraphale startled at the emphasis towards him. “Will remain until you are called for.”

Well, Aziraphale tugged scarf off his neck, suddenly a tad too warm. This was all… quite much.

Gabriel nodded and thanked the figures on behalf of them both as they followed the directions down a hallway. Every curtain had been drawn closed, but enough candles were lit all around the manor to make it seem as though daylight brightened their way. It was less gloomy than Aziraphale expected, given the dreary cold outside and whole solid black exterior.

At the specified door Gabriel knocked politely before opening it to an empty sitting room once more decorated tastefully in dark red and gold trim accents on the furniture with a soft shade of rose on the walls. On the left side of the room stood a privacy screen and a double vanity, while some of their bags were already laid out on a plush settee against the far wall. The sight made a part of Aziraphale squirm, had the Inferius looked through their items? Some of his luggage contained his favourite books, ones he could not bear to leave behind at the estate in the family’s ungrateful hands.

“Good, they remembered which ones I asked for,” came Gabriel’s voice as he began to open his luggage and pull out his wedding garments. “Oh, and yes, forgot to mention that our family would possibly make far better time than we did, or they must have departed earlier than us. Michael was vague on the details, very unlike her but she has not been in the best mood as of late.”

Aziraphale felt one of the knots in his stomach loosen, and he made short work of his now overly warm winter items to begin laying out his wedding garments. He smoothed his hand atop the delicate stitching of the pure white tailcoat he had chosen to wear with his beloved cream waistcoat. Simple, one might call his style, but he preferred the carefully curated items he's collected over the years, desired little else.

What would his betrothed be wearing today, Aziraphale pondered, and entertained the notion of a sharp gentleman in all black, or perhaps even a dark, oxblood red. Either one sounded quite elegant for a lord of these northern lands, if he did say so himself.

There was a knock at the door.

“Seems like they do not plan on taking any time,” Aziraphale called over to Gabriel by means of shaking away his wandering thoughts.

Gabriel, who had tugged his heavy coat off and was now struggling out of his shirtsleeves, gave a grunt of annoyance which Aziraphale interpreted to mean he agreed, and was not happy at all about the situation.

For all his competence in facilitating meetings, negotiations, even cross-continental trade agreements, Gabriel lacked any sort of adequacy when it came to the tightrope balance of handling his siblings’ starkly different personalities alongside their ambitions. Aziraphale could sense Gabriel’s hesitation in what to do as they opened the doors to see them standing off to the side, eyeing the Inferius with suspicion as they went about their business in preparing for the ceremony.

Gabriel might be the matriarch-blessed head of the family, but Michael ran the business side with an iron fist. She could exert great pressure on all of them when necessary, and as a result the others were much closer to her than they were to Gabriel. At his side, Aziraphale heard Gabriel take a slow breath.

“Greetings,” he called out to them and the Inferius immediately moved out of the way as Gabriel barrelled on through, no doubt having heard just how he had been earlier this week with the others.

Uriel looked away from their conversation with Michael and another relative who continued on listening to Michael, and their eyes shifted over both Gabriel and Aziraphale. Where Gabriel did not notice the flash of irritation on Uriel’s face, Aziraphale was all too attuned to it.

“Nice to see you could make it. Will Raphael be joining us?” Out of all his cousins save Gabriel, Raphael’s presence would have been the most preferred. Raphael, however, was an odd one to pin down in terms of his place within the Caelum sibling dynamic. He simply did not participate, which allowed him the freedom to come and go as he pleased while removing a potential competitor from the Caelum family’s ranks.

Michael gave a sharp order to the relative who, after a wave to them all, immediately departed into the atrium. She joined the conversation with a short jerk of her chin at them both as Uriel shook their head in response to Gabriel’s question.

“Got caught in the middle of tending to an infectious outbreak near our far western post,” Uriel said to Aziraphale with a cool expression, lips curling around their next words in an attempt at a smile. “He sends his congratulations, however, and promised to come visit upon his return.”

Aziraphale smiled back, unsure what to say in response.

“Wonderful,” Gabriel said, even though it clearly was anything but. “So, who else is attending from our family, just us?” There was a tension in his voice that implied if no one else showed up there was to be a flurry of strongly worded memos before he returned home.

Uriel grimaced, and Michael opened her mouth to respond when Sandalphon appeared at their side, and the placid smile on his face chilled Aziraphale quicker than the biting winter had.

“Some of our cousins and part of father’s side of the family are in attendance, having been with us upon our receiving of your memo. We were ensured they would be available for this occasion,” Sandalphon said in lieu of a greeting, and the others nodded.

Gabriel glanced over to Aziraphale with a careful eye, before he clasped his hands together in delight.

“Excellent, glad they could make it!” He nodded, as if satisfied by the response and handed Michael a folded piece of paper before he took off to order around one of the house stewards. His target, from what Aziraphale could tell was an enshrouded figure with crossed arms who wore an impressive scowl at Gabriel’s gesticulations. The moment his back turned the three siblings shifted their unified attention towards Aziraphale and a warbled smile stretched across his face.

He was in trouble.

Sandalphon slid his eyes to Aziraphale, who suppressed the urge to flinch and instead clutched at the hem of his delicate wedding coat.

“Congratulations cousin, I never would have guessed,” he began as Uriel and he exchanged a look while Michael snorted, unsettling Aziraphale’s stomach. He knew this look between them, when there was to be a joke at his expense.

Sandalphon brought a hand up to cover his knife’s edge of a grin. “Imagine our surprise to hear you of all the Caelum family members were to wed.”

Ah. That’s what this is about. Aziraphale withheld a sigh and kept his smile fixed in place. He just needed to get through it, he has every other time before.

Michael looked up from the paper Gabriel had passed her, folded it shut with sharp motions.

“Indeed,” she droned as her eyes scraped over Aziraphale, obvious in her disdain for what she saw. “Let us hope your husband to be - this Inferius lord no one seems willing to name - is not looking to wed into our family on account of your appearance.”

Aziraphale folded his arms in front of himself, whether as a shield or a cloak he was unsure, but their piercing judgment struck deep regardless in the wake of his already present doubts over his betrothed. He did not look up from his shoes at Sandalphon’s follow-on comment, nor at Michael and Uriel’s responding laughter.

“Do Michael’s words carry any legitimacy?”

They were in the main lobby before the ceremony room. On the other side of the elegant doors his future husband and family were waiting, but his feet remained locked to the marble floor as he resisted the urge to look over into the nearby full-length mirror at himself, afraid of what he might see.

Gabriel paused from adjusting his elegant frock-coat’s cuffs to look over at him. “What words?”

Aziraphale smoothed his own hands down his front, conscious of how the fabric curved. “I did not realise my appearance would come into play. Given her statements earlier, is there a reason to believe the lord will, well.” He cut himself off, throat caught tight in the over-exposure prickling along his skin. Were he to look into the mirror, how likely is he to see someone far too inadequate for a man he has not even met?

Would his lord husband, operating under false impressions of Aziraphale, turn him away at the altar and the Caelum matriarch’s orders be denied? What are the repercussions? He heard Gabriel’s shoes echo on the hard floor as he moved closer.

“I have no idea,” Gabriel glanced down Aziraphale with a clinical eye before over to the Inferius guard. “Everyone here seems to be very thin; whether on purpose or not I have no idea. If that is what the lord of this estate was expecting of his betrothed, then maybe he should have conducted this arrangement in person and made _everyone_ aware of what they were getting into.” He shrugged his shoulders, the matter resolved in Gabriel’s mind even if it were anything but in Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale bit his lip. It was not as ham-fisted as Gabriel often responded, but it stung, nonetheless.

His life has been lived in seclusion. Visitors outside of family very rare. A life of comfort and obligation and the occasionally caustic disappointment of those he called family, yes, but one in which his contentment, his security has long resided. Now, in the matter of a week he has been thrust out from under the wing of Caelum into a world with standards Aziraphale was not sure he met, or ever will.

A knock on the door made them both jump before they looked back at one another. It was time. Aziraphale smoothed his waistcoat, adjust his bowtie against the vise in his throat.

“Well,” he attempted to smile, unable to meet his cousin’s eyes. “Best be off.”

Gabriel stayed Aziraphale’s steps toward the door with a hand in front of his chest, just an inch from touching and he looked up, surprised, into his cousin’s worry-worn face.

“It is my duty in the Caelum family to facilitate all communications and approve all we do in accordance with the Caelum family doctrine.” He frowned, as though the words fit on his tongue improperly and required him to take a breath and try again. “Your entire life has been lived in our ancestral home, you have been immersed in our ways all these years, Aziraphale.” Gabriel began again, stress lines pronounced around his mouth and eyes, his drooping shoulders told Aziraphale he has not slept since they received the letter, and he felt a bit less alone, for a moment.

“Regardless of your future here in Nusquam, you are a member of the Caelum family first, and always will be.”

He leaned forward into Aziraphale’s space, both aware of the Inferius courier who impatiently hovered at the doorway, no doubt listening to anything they say. “Call upon any of us whenever you wish. As I mentioned, it is their duty to let me know if you need anything, and I will do my absolute best to assist you.”

It was. Aziraphale swallowed, hands fluttering in front of him as he struggled to maintain composure. It was the most expressive declaration of their familial bond Aziraphale has heard thus far from Gabriel.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” He blinked against the burn in his eyes. “I will do my best to represent our family with honour.”

A shadow passed over Gabriel’s face, before he constructed another cheerful, wide smile.

“With all that settled, let’s get you married!”

Aziraphale stood before the doorway which into the atrium and fought against the tremble rattling through his body that was not just from the bone-chilling air around him. Beyond these doors his family and that terrible Inferius family sat, waiting for him to wed into an arrangement he knew little about with a man he knew nothing about.

With an impulsive look to his right he caught himself in the large mirror and stared miserably at the overall softness of his face and figure, the bruise-like marks under his eyes from so little sleep this past week, the gentle slope of his defeated shoulders. There is no way his betrothed is going to be happy to see _this_ walking down the aisle towards him. Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the tired reflection, dropped it down to the overly polished floor as he willed his breathing to remain steady.

“Not what you were expecting, is it?” Came a low voice to his left.

Aziraphale startled with a silent gasp and whipped his head around and up to see a pair of round, dark spectacles on an angular, pale face looking right back down at him. The man appeared older than Aziraphale but he could be wrong, never been very good with faces anyways. He shifted under the stranger’s rather odd stare, offering a weak smile before he turned away.

Wait.

“Sorry, what was that?” Another wan smile.

The tall man did not smile in return, but he replied. “I said, not what you were expecting, is it, Aziraphale?”

An Inferius, then.

Aziraphale shook his head before his hands fluttered to the wide, white lapels as he tugged the fabric into position, suddenly self-conscious under the man’s scrutiny.

“Admittedly I am not sure of what I expected, good sir. This is… well outside my wheelhouse, so to speak.”

The man seemed to straighten up even more so, unnecessary given he already stood well over a head taller than Aziraphale. His broad shoulders pulled at the tight fabric of his midnight black frockcoat and at his throat he wore no cravat or bowtie but instead what appeared to be a loose, thin tie with the buttons of his black shirt’s collar undone. It was hardly appropriate attire for attending a wedding, Aziraphale chided internally, let alone one this far north. Although, perhaps that was the custom, little as he knew of this land so far.

“Not every day one gets married, I imagine.” Was there a question in his voice or has Aziraphale simply been caught in an anxiety-induced fever dream.

Either way.

“Forgive me, but who are you?” Aziraphale asked with a touch of impatience at how this Inferius stranger, dressed so differently than the others, already knew his name and conversed as though Aziraphale did not stand moments from the end of his life as he knew it.

“Crowley,” the strange man bowed shortly at the waist. As he righted, his flame-coloured hair caught the light, a stark contrast to the cold expression on his face.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated, waiting for a further explanation than that.

“And you, Aziraphale, I believe are to be my husband.”

Every drop of blood in Aziraphale’s body froze. He has been lamenting his impending marriage and his _future husband_ has been the unfortunate ear to it all. Forget Gabriel butchering this arrangement with his brashness, Aziraphale has gone and grievously, outright insulted the lord of this estate with his impolite attitude.

“You are not to see me before the wedding,” his voice cracked on the last word, incapable of summoning the facilities to apologise. “Tradition, they told me.”

Lord Crowley let out a quiet scoff as he adjusted the cuff of his dark coat with an idle tug, but he did not comment on Aziraphale’s numerous failings in their interactions thus far.

“That particular tradition is from the Caelum family’s doctrine, your matriarch left that in her wedding instructions to our side,” he said, turning away from Aziraphale and his heart pound out a dull pressure against his ribcage at the loss of the other man’s focus on him. “I personally find the notion of waiting until we’re at the altar entirely absurd, don’t you?”

Aziraphale looked to the doorway, before back to the lord, rather thrown. This is… not something he expected to be discussing, and he settled on honesty.

“I fear I do not know much about weddings, ah, my lord. I just hope I can one day look back and say with confidence I didn’t do the wrong thing.” Literature on the subject was hard to come by in the Caelum family estate, and what little he could find on the matter has proven to be nothing like what his own wedding day has turned out to be so far.

Save for the handsomeness of his future husband, that is. Aziraphale bit his lip in guilt at the observation and reluctantly glanced up to Lord Crowley’s raised brow expression, hoped his thoughts were not displayed all over his face. Oh dear, just the possibility was too much to consider.

He just realised Lord Crowley has been talking and forced himself back into the conversation.

“…But if that’s the case,” Lord Crowley held out his right arm and looked down into Aziraphale’s eyes or appeared to do so with those dark spectacles firmly in place. Aziraphale was already finding looking at his own reflection to be a tire and hoped they would not remain in place indefinitely.

“We walk in together, walk out together. Simple as that.”

“Oh, well.” Aziraphale’s heart fluttered a clumsy rhythm as he stared at the proffered arm, not unlike he would when faced with a hissing viper like those in the wildlife books he once restored. Lord Crowley did not reach for him, but his arm did not fall as the seconds dragged on and Aziraphale warred with himself.

Physical contact between others remained an elusive, restricted part of the Caelum family tradition. Not even between family members or close friends - not that Aziraphale had any of the latter - was a casual touch or caress shared. Marriage within his family was so rare to the point Aziraphale did not believe there even existed protocol for _appropriate contact_ between spouses. Caelum tradition or not, was it even proper to do as requested of his future husband?

On the other side of the atrium doors, music far better suited for funerals than weddings began to play.

“Place your hand on my arm,” Lord Crowley said, voice almost lost under the music and blood roaring in Aziraphale’s ears.

Aziraphale squared his shoulders, and with a slow, steadying breath, slipped his hand into the crook of Lord Crowley’s arm. A shudder ran through him as a large gloved hand in response came to rest atop Aziraphale’s, the pressure of another person’s touch on him impossible to reconcile with, here of all times.

Lord Crowley was dreadfully cold, as though no heat emanated from his body despite the heavy groom’s garments he wore. Before Aziraphale could pull away in surprise the doors opened wide and all the air in the room rushed out, taking his breath with it.

Staring into that yawning darkness, Aziraphale fought on for his courage and braved one last glance up at Lord Crowley, surprised to see the other man looking down at him.

“Together,” said Lord Crowley.

In tandem, Aziraphale and Lord Crowley stepped forward.

The Nusquam manor’s atrium was illuminated by hundreds, if not thousands of candles burning around them. They were situated on every flat surface, and even some uneven surfaces, all about in a random pattern to cast a glow of conflicting light and despite what should have been a warm room, winter’s bite permeated through the stone surrounding them, his wedding clothing paper-thin against the inescapable chill.

The majority of candlelight was gathered up front, no doubt to ensure the wedding couple could be seen well enough. In turn, the amount of light in Aziraphale’s vision cast an impenetrable shadow upon their audience and when Aziraphale looked out into the crowd for his family’s support, he was met with a curtain of darkness.

Aziraphale distantly heard the officiant reciting introductions and the basics of wedding vows, unsure of what he was meant to do other than stand here on Lord Crowley’s arm. Under his lashes he shot a glance up, nonplussed to find his lord husband did not seem to bear his same concerns. Instead the other man’s focus was on the officiant and his hand, while still atop Aziraphale’s, seemed a bit warmer than before.

Soon enough there was the call for rings, and they turned to face one another as Lord Crowley pulled away long enough to procure a matching set of golden bands from his breast pocket.

“Lord Crowley of House Inferius, with this ring do you swear to honour and cherish your husband from here into eternity?”

Aziraphale knew little of wedding vows, but these did not seem traditional. There was no mention of commitment or love, for one. He did not question it, could not as he instead watched in utter fascination as Lord Crowley’s hands cradled his to slide the wedding band onto his plump ring finger.

A perfect fit.

He sighed at how warm the precious metal was, and a flush crept across his face at the sight of it. He glanced up to smile his thanks only to be met by Lord Crowley’s cold expression, and watched, stunned, as thin lips formed the expected, clipped response. 

“I do.”

Of course there was no mention of love or commitment, and as the candlelight dimmed around them, he blinked back the threat of tears.

Of course.

The glow returned, and Lord Crowley held out the matching ring for Aziraphale to take. Lord Crowley had removed his left glove without Aziraphale knowing and it was a fine hand indeed, long fingered and steady, not that Aziraphale knew much about what was considered an acceptable hand. Aziraphale could feel the calloused, slightly rough skin of Lord Crowley’s palm and fingertips as though he laboured outside like a household servant, and Aziraphale wondered further after the strange man he was marrying.

Aziraphale tensed in Lord Crowley’s grasp as his calloused thumb pressed lightly on Aziraphale’s hand. Shivers slithered through him and he bit back a gasp. Not for how cold his skin was, as Aziraphale now felt consumed by fire, but for it being skin at _all._ He has never touched another person’s skin, never felt anyone touch his own.

All his life Aziraphale has longed for the day he would share such closeness with another, dreamt after it in the secret chambers of his heart. To have his first touch be with his lord husband was sheer poetry, enough to make Aziraphale’s heart throb with the romance of it all.

“Aziraphale of House Caelum, with this ring do you swear to honour and cherish your husband from here into eternity?”

And also ache with the cruelty of it all, to have it experienced at the hand of a man with no regard in his heart for Aziraphale.

He opened his mouth to reply, but his throat closed tight around the words, and he tried again only to suffer the same result. There was a dull murmur around them, increasing in volume the longer he took as everyone watched from their place in the dark, judged his inadequacy for being up here, so far away from home and everything he’s ever known.

What was he thinking being here, pretending he had any right to be pledging himself to this lord in front of all these people?

“I—” Lord Crowley moved closer, the hand tightening its grip on his trembling fingers. Aziraphale, about to faint, hoped his betrothed would at least prevent him from hitting the unforgiving floor.

Before he could say a word, Lord Crowley reached up and removed his spectacles.

The stare of countless others had been a constant pressure on him the entire ceremony, but they were nothing compared to Lord Crowley’s unconcealed eyes. Molten amber blazed down at him in the dim light of the atrium’s thousand candle glow, and Aziraphale could almost feel the heat of that gaze against his skin, as though he were stripped bare in every possible way to Lord Crowley.

But, Aziraphale did not feel anything other than safe while caught within those unblinking eyes as that rough, careful thumb once more stroked the skin atop his trembling hand, over the warm wedding band on his finger.

His throat’s vise eased, and Aziraphale heard himself respond in a clearer voice than he ever thought possible.

“I do.”

Around them, the candles’ flames shifted erratically when he fumbled the golden band onto Lord Crowley’s ring finger. As he slid the ring in place his fingers brushed across the prominent knuckle above it, and Aziraphale swore the candlelight around them rose higher than before. As the priest announced their union to the applauding crowd, he caught sight of himself in his lord husband’s dark spectacles, in place once more.

Then, in the half-span of a breath, he watched his awestruck reflection come closer as Lord Crowley leaned down.

Aziraphale did not remember the walk back to their quarters, eyes fixated on the floor near Lord Crowley’s feet as he was led through the winding, dimly lit hallways of the Nusquam manor.

There had been a reception after the wedding, an impressive gathering held within the entryway they had come into the manor from. How the Inferius put that together during the ceremony in such haste Aziraphale could not fathom, his sole focus had rest in how his lips still tingled with the feel of their wedding kiss.

He brought his hand up to touch them before jerking away and clenching it into a fist. In front of him Lord Crowley turned left, and he dutifully followed without a word, marvelling at how vast this manor was.

Gabriel and his other relatives had departed before sundown at the unsubtle hints of the Inferius figures, but apparently plans were laid down prior to the wedding for Uriel to remain in one of the nearby villages while Gabriel went further north to the capital. For establishing reliable means of contact he had told Aziraphale, in what Gabriel must have hoped sounded reassuring to his younger cousin.

“I will be available to assist you should you have need. Merely send word,” Uriel, for all their dislike of him, sounded genuine in their reciting of the obligation Gabriel claimed would exist. Michael and Sandalphon left together with barely a glance at either him or Lord Crowley, their heads bowed close in conversation and Aziraphale had grimaced with embarrassment over his cousins’ rudeness towards the lord of the estate even if Lord Crowley did not make mention of it.

Although, Aziraphale had caught how Michael’s eye followed Lord Crowley the majority of the reception as they made their way through the rest his surprisingly congratulatory relatives and wondered if there was a connection to be made there.

He swallowed thickly against how the implication burned in his stomach.

“Here,” Lord Crowley’s voice filtered in through his thoughts and Aziraphale looked up to see they had stopped before a large, ornate door. The handle was wrought iron, twisted into a serpentine figure that Aziraphale hesitated to touch. Lord Crowley pushed open the door and Aziraphale took a careful step into what would be their bedroom.

It was…

Rather nice, actually. Aziraphale took another step in and looked around as Lord Crowley shut the door behind them.

Although still in the same overall theme as the rest of the manor, minimal with ornate blended, instead of gold accents there was a mixture of dark carved wood and pale stone. Black marble floors had been covered by a carefully laid arrangement of thick rugs, and Aziraphale could feel their plushness even through his shoes. On the right-hand wall an enormous fireplace, carved from the same pale stone as the rest of the room, burned hot and bright to send out wave upon wave of much needed heat right at Aziraphale’s chilled skin.

“Been a long evening. Feel free to get comfortable,” said Lord Crowley with wave of his hand as he immediately went over to the fireplace and pulled the fire iron from its rack before prodding at one of the logs. With a sharp jab he split it and the fire burst higher, sending another wave of heat into the bedroom and Aziraphale sighed in bliss before he absently replied.

“Won’t you be joining me?” Aziraphale found in his distraction the courage to say, unaware of what he asked. From half-lidded eyes he watched Lord Crowley’s tall, dark figure cut the fire’s light in half, split it to cast separate columns of shadow across the room.

What he said rushed at him on another wave of the fire’s heat, and he felt as though he’d stepped into a blizzard for all the good it did him. His lord husband did not move from the crackling hearth, nor did he acknowledge having heard Aziraphale, and the seconds ticked by as the heartstrings keeping Aziraphale’s composure strained and stretched.

Lord Crowley eventually cast a glance over his shoulder, and those molten amber eyes burned at Aziraphale from behind his spectacles as though mined from an ancient, fossilised tree in a garden Aziraphale might once have walked, in another life. What fruit must it have borne, Aziraphale stopped to wonder under the rising tide of his panic, to create so rich a sap that would harden into that colour.

“Tell me,” Aziraphale suppressed an unbecoming shiver at the low timbre of his lord husband’s voice, watched as that long, rough hand set the fire iron back in its place.

“Do you know what you ask of your husband?”

“I—” Lord Crowley turned to fully face him at last, needing only one stride to reach Aziraphale. Once more, as Lord Crowley loomed over him, Aziraphale was made aware of how different they are in so many ways. Lord Crowley, he remembered in a haste of fluster, had been required to stoop in an inelegant fashion to bestow the first, and last, kiss of their marriage which also happened to be the first, and last, kiss of Aziraphale’s life.

“How much,” Lord Crowley’s voice pulled Aziraphale from his idle reverie. “Are you aware of what transpires in a marital bed?”

Were the question to have fallen from anyone else’s mouth, Aziraphale would assume their intention to make a complete mockery of him. Truth be told, he was amazed and desperately grateful for the propriety his relatives had shown when in the presence of Lord Crowley, to have refrained from expounding on the endless deficiencies Aziraphale’s very existence encompassed in their eyes, and now potentially Lord Crowley’s.

Lord Crowley’s handsome face, while enshrouded in shadow was not cast about with mockery, nor mired with disdain. He appeared curious, nothing more. In turn, Aziraphale tried to hold that burning gaze, found the intensity of his focus too much, and dropped his own eyes to the floor where Lord Crowley’s polished shoes reflected back at him.

His face burned as he spoke. “I have been educated on my expected marital duties.” From an incredibly vague, almost abstract book but he did not share this detail. A quiet snort, and he looked up to see Lord Crowley’s expression twist into an interesting contortion of annoyance and what could pass for exasperation.

“’I have been educated’ yes but are you aware of what actually happens?” Lord Crowley’s mouth unravelled into a dark scowl. “Are you experienced in any way with these _marital duties_?”

Aziraphale’s face was so hot now he is sure it warmed the room more than the hearth as the lord’s question echoed between his ears. Why was he even asked this, he wondered in an incredulous loop, until a sudden, agonising notion struck.

Could it be that Lord Crowley, oh, his heart ached already at the possibility, desired someone with such experience? Aziraphale was not naive; he knew that men such as his lord husband have entertained countless others in their beds. There was nothing Aziraphale could bring that has not already been encountered save for his own unfortunate self.

Defeat weighed heavy in his stomach, he felt like giving up before they even try.

Hopefully his lord husband inclined himself as merciful in the veiled conversations of polite company that will inevitably occur in the future. If he is indeed as noble as the matriarch considered him to be, what with her approval of this marriage, there would be no discussion outside these walls over how unprepared Aziraphale was in the realm of marital consummation. Aziraphale took a breath, aware Lord Crowley has been watching him intently, patient even, to his surprise.

“I am—” Lord Crowley’s face wiped into a blank slate and Aziraphale hurried lest he suffer his lord husband’s undoubted disgust. “I am aware of a marital night’s happenings based on what has been documented for educational purposes. But, please forgive your husband if you could.” He shut his eyes as Lord Crowley’s widened behind his dark spectacles.

“In practice, I - I am entirely inexperienced in what is to occur.”

Something defensive arose in him upon opening his eyes to the sight of Lord Crowley’s struggling expression, no doubt horrified at the incompetence he will soon have to endure.

“That is, if you are willing to,” Aziraphale looked down and missed the way Lord Crowley’s hands clenched. “I will try to perform my duty as best I can. However, I must ask much of you in this,” He swallowed against the burn in his eyes and at how humiliation clogged his throat. Why was this so difficult to say.

“Should I be inadequate, please do not hold it against me.”

Lord Crowley said nothing, his whipcord body ramrod straight, caught by the warm glow of flames moving about his silhouette as though they exist solely to illuminate his outline. Aziraphale would not be surprised if they did, for his lord husband was stunning in a way Aziraphale has never witnessed before. He thought once more of the lovers that have passed through the bed behind him, their familiarity with Lord Crowley’s pleasure, and the skill they possessed. There was no way Aziraphale could ever match any of it, there was no hope of anything but disappointing his lord husband.

“Hold it against you?” Lord Crowley rasped out, and Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot upwards as he saw a gloved hand run down the lord’s face.

“What do you think I—” He looked somewhere left of Aziraphale’s shoulder, and like curtain call after a play Aziraphale watched as his lord husband’s expression fell once more into impassivity. Lord Crowley took a slow breath, as though with great effort, and Aziraphale braced himself.

“Very well.” He moved away from Aziraphale to the right side of the bed, and at the sound of thick bed covers shifting, folding down, Aziraphale’s heart sped up, jumped into his throat to strangle his quiet whimper.

“Undress, if you wish.”

Aziraphale stopped listening after the first word, the rest hardly mattered.

The cold order to _strip_ had punched the air from his lungs. If he the strength - and permission - to do so Aziraphale might have wept, begged for Lord Crowley to be kind as he took him, in whatever way there was to be had from someone.

Instead he shuddered through a series of hitched gasps for breath, before focusing all his courage into the raising of trembling hands to his throat, fingers clumsy as he loosened his bowtie. A part of him prayed Lord Crowley would stay his hand, tell him there was nothing to be rushed, that he would not take an unwilling partner. Aziraphale hoped with all he had, but as he worked the silk fabric off from around his throat, no pardon was delivered. His husband would take what is his, and Aziraphale would accept it.

Aziraphale felt the blaze of Lord Crowley’s eyes on him, hotter than the hearth’s fire against the back of his head. The undoubted impatience he must possess from having so cowardly a spouse. His lord husband no doubt is revelling in the time Aziraphale took, as it gave him a moment to brace himself for what lay ahead.

Insidious images seeped into Aziraphale’s mind of vague, stilted movement under the heavy covers of the bed behind him. He could envision his lord husband silent above him as he laboured through fulfilling their consummation. Those golden eyes undoubtedly would be shut tight despite the darkness of the room, fire snuffed as the chill settled deep within Aziraphale’s bones and not from the lack of passion between them, surely not that.

It would be blessedly dark, however. Enough so that Aziraphale in all his soft, passive imperfection was hidden from sight, and whatever fantasy Lord Crowley crafted in his head would enable him to see his marital obligation through.

Aziraphale eyes squeezed shut as each thought assailed him, first in his cousins’ voices and then in Lord Crowley’s. For a moment he swore to have heard his name whispered in the room, but it was too gentle to have come from his lord husband’s mouth.

“Why not… start with your waistcoat.”

Aziraphale flinched, but did as he was told, folding the delicate fabric with halted motions. He sat in on a chair nearby where his wedding coat hung carefully over the backrest. That was easier than he expected, Aziraphale told himself with a tiredness he felt in his heart.

Lord Crowley let out a deep sigh behind Aziraphale. “Try undoing your shirtsleeves next.”

He obeyed, this time his hands were steadier.

On it went, and so did the shake in his hands merciful on an eventual ebb as he grew used to the audience that was Lord Crowley while he undressed. Every piece was removed without a single noise to express either pleasure or displeasure at what Aziraphale revealed. Each order from his lord husband came in endless patience until he was soon down to his underclothes, unsure how he got this way without collapsing into a panic.

Lord Crowley shifted closer behind him, and Aziraphale could feel his steady breaths against the crown of his head, so close he was.

“Aziraphale.”

This time he knew for certain Lord Crowley had spoken his name. Oh, how it sounded on that tongue, almost safe and cared for, but he knew it would not last. Not with their vows devoid of such notions, not with his every flaw, every unseemly curve on display, softened even further by the roaring fire’s light, a direct opposite to Lord Crowley’s whipcord-strong body.

He quickly pulled them off and wrapped his arms tight around himself, waiting for Lord Crowley’s next order.

The cold never reached him. His yelp of surprise died somewhere inside his throat as the weight of a thick robe draped over his shoulders and he spun to face Lord Crowley’s inscrutable expression. A nervousness gripped him tighter than his hands as they clutched at the hem to hold it closed around his nudity, unsure if this was acceptance or rejection. Terrified of both.

“There we are. Been shivering since you arrived here. Must see about acquiring more wood for the fire.” Lord Crowley moved away and Aziraphale watched the long line of him saunter towards the bedroom door, a gloved hand brought up to rest along the frame. Aziraphale flushed as his lord husband turned once more to face him, molten eyes still concealed.

With a jerk of his sharp chin in the direction of the bed, a hot rush of - fear, mostly - slithered down Aziraphale’s back at the simple command his lord husband delivered. If he would continue to grace him with instruction even into their marital bed, Aziraphale might get through tonight unscathed.

He shuffled over the plush carpet toward their bed, an enormous but austere piece of furniture layered with dark silk sheets and, to Aziraphale’s surprise, thick blankets from the south. These had been what Lord Crowley folded down earlier, he realised. Leaden limbs carried him into bed and he hastily pulled the sheets up to conceal what little modesty he still possessed.

The rest his lord husband would relieve him of soon enough.

Aziraphale shifted as he smoothed the covers over him along with his anxious thoughts, and risked a glance up to Lord Crowley, who watched Aziraphale with an odd expression. His lord husband’s grip on the door frame made the wood creak before his expression - and hold - eased. When he spoke, it sounded more to himself than to Aziraphale.

“Yes. Rest.” Lord Crowley clicked open the door a fraction. “I will return.”

Aziraphale could only nod in reply as he worried the heavy blanket underhand. Lord Crowley stood there, though, blocking the open door but it was open where someone might walk past and he sunk further under the covers, embarrassed. No one was here save for them but—

Without another word, Lord Crowley slipped away and shut the door with a quiet yet audible click.

A rush of air burst from his lungs, and Aziraphale sagged down into the plush bed, panting even though he never ran a day in his life. Every muscle in his body felt as though it had been locked tight and now that they were uncoiling, he was left exhausted from the effort to stay upright all day.

Aziraphale rubbed his tired, clammy face before he blinked around the large bedroom, over to where the fire in its ornate hearth popped and burst. Roaring bright when they first arrived, it had died down to a quiet smoulder. How late was the evening already? Their wedding could not have been more than an hour ago, but time has indeed passed him by, he can feel it in the heaviness of his limbs, the sluggishness of his mind.

He shook his head. It would not do to fall asleep before his lord husband returned, after he so dutifully left to obtain more wood for rekindling the fire.

…Although.

Aziraphale flushed as he plucked the cuff of his new robe, a soft cream colour he never would have expected in this room. Lord Crowley has already done a great deal to keep him warm, hence the reason for his departure. Tonight might have unfolded differently than he first expected, but it would be terrible conduct on his part to not wait for his lord husband.

It _is_ their wedding night after all. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered in his chest at the thought, the events of earlier crept into the corners of his mind. Lord Crowley would return shortly and insist on continuing where they left off, despite Aziraphale’s exhaustion or reservations.

A yawn interrupted his frenetic inner voice to send a shiver down his limbs. He sighed as he wrapped the robe tighter around himself and burrowed further under the thick covers as the fire dimmed further, unable to remember what he was thinking about. Tired eyes won their battle against his mind, even as he listened for the telltale sound of his new bedroom’s door reopening.

Lord Crowley would not scorn his need for a respite beforehand, surely, he would not.

_“Aziraphale.”_

Aziraphale woke up with a gasp, frantic in his haste to fling the covers off himself and scramble his way to the headboard, a hand clutched his robe shut as he searched for the source of the voice. Yet on his trembling breath he looked around only to find himself alone, the likely results of a stressed mind having been the cause. Across the room the fire in its hearth burned bright as it dutifully warmed him, and he followed the randomness of its crackling embers until his heartbeat slowed.

Lord Crowley never returned last night.

Gentle movement from a gap between the heavy curtains caught his attention in the form of pure snowfall against the dark sky. The first major storm of the season has arrived, it seemed.

As he watched the quiet cascade of white from the comfortable warmth of his far too large bed, Aziraphale knew even if the storm passed by quickly, that Nusquam manor's only inhabitants would be him and his lord husband for a long while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't think I will make you sit through thousands of words of world building, brace yourself.

Nusquam’s first storm of the season was a sight to behold.

White and grey swirled outside without end and Aziraphale felt a calm settle over him as he watched. Although the storm brought with it the sealing of his fate within the Nusquam manor, Aziraphale chose to let himself admire the snowfall so unlike anything he’s encountered back home.

Aziraphale found his thoughts wandered without direction the majority of the morning as his attention was caught between the storm’s rapid development and the bedroom door possibly opening. However, as the early morning hours slipped by, neither changed, and Aziraphale at last accepted Lord Crowley did not intend upon returning to the bedroom.

He tugged the robe away from his damp chest, its warmth a tad stifling at the moment, unsure what to make of the entire notion. Did his lord husband expect him to wait here, or was he free to move about the manor? According to the arrangement, Gabriel claimed he was free to do as he pleased. The matriarch herself had sealed that into the marriage itself so as to protect him and the Caelum family if everything that has transpired was to be believed. But those were words on a paper that was in another country than where he now was.

Despite the careful protections in place for him, none of it explained away the reality of waking up in an empty marriage bed as untouched as he had been at the exchange of his vows.

Except, Lord Crowley might return at any moment to remedy that particular aspect of the arrangement. No matter what the matriarch’s arrangement said, Aziraphale knew it was his duty to yield whenever his lord husband chose.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale chided to himself as he brought a hand to rub at his jaw, aching from the tension he’s let collect there since he awoke. None of these thoughts provided the energy to cease the tremble in his limbs, and he did not wish to waste the day in bed regardless of what might happen. For all his impassivity and sharp edges, Lord Crowley did not deserve to be viewed as a monster for something he has not even committed. And this _was_ his new reality, whether he liked it or not. The husband of a northern lord in a land he felt more contained within than welcomed by so far.

“Right,” Aziraphale whispered and flipped the covers away from his body.

“Best start the day.”

The plushness of the rugs became more apparent now that he walked barefoot around the room, the hard marble flooring underneath non-existent as only comfort and warmth seeped up through them.

As he looked down, he could make out how each rug, while distinct, had been carefully laid down, arranged so no part of the flooring underneath was visible. The Inferius family must have taken great strides to keep the cold from the rest of the rooms, although from what he has seen only the bedroom possessed rugs of the south’s design.

A door in the far corner, having been obscured by shadow last night, led to an expansive washroom with an ornate black and white patterning of tiles arranged in what might have been a design had Aziraphale the height to be able to see across the entire flooring as light flooded in through the opened curtains. Although the rugs in here were far softer, the chill of the tile had him step lighter around the room.

There was a double sink along one wall with an enormous gild-framed mirror above it while a cherry red chest of drawers peeked out from underneath. His fingers itched to look inside them, and concluded that just like the bedroom this too was his to poke about in. With a careful tug he opened a drawer to see dark red and black towels contained with, along with several baskets of cleansing items. If he looked closer, he could make out several with rather complex names in a language he did not understand and plucked one at random. Aziraphale smiled at the soft floral scent it emits when he brought it to his nose.

Surely his lord husband would not be expecting him anytime soon. He might even consider a bath to be an excellent way of relaxing his easily chilled southern husband upon the first day of their marriage.

Marriage. Aziraphale brought a hand to the golden ring on his finger, warmed by his body heat.

He was married now.

With a shake of his head he went to the enormous claw-footed bathtub that took up almost half the wall under the windows.

Indoor plumbing, Aziraphale tapped a finger against the exposed copper pipes, which shone in polished contrast against the black tiles as they funnelled up into the ceiling. The Caelum house only obtained such advanced plumbing in the past decade after Gabriel had conducted a near ruthless campaign alongside the rest of their township to have the local government fund the endeavour for all the households and businesses.

They looked incredibly new, as though installed just within the past few days, yet Aziraphale saw no cuts or stone dust from recent masonry and line-work. Whomever Lord Crowley employed to renovate this place was truly an expert in their craft.

Despite the frigid temperatures outside, when Aziraphale turned the bathtub’s gilded handle a flood of hot water gushed out and sent clouds of steam up into his face.

Incredible, he breathed deep as the humid air beaded over his nose and cheeks. A needed balm from the dry heat of the rest of the manor and he leaned further down as the tub filled. After casting a nervous glance over to the washroom’s door to see if it was still locked, he quickly slipped the robe off to hang up on a hook near the bathtub and dipped a foot in to test the temperature. With a sigh upon finding it perfectly warm, he sunk down and let the heat seep into his skin in a way the hearth’s blazing fire could never manage. As he tilted his head back and opened his eyes to count the delicate tiles arranged across the ceiling, Aziraphale cast his hearing to see if he could make out any noise in the bedroom or the rest of the manor.

Silence greeted him, and the last of Aziraphale’s tension slipped away as he slid further into the warm water.

Longer than he should, Aziraphale let himself idle in the hot water of the bath, caught between relaxation and trepidation of the potential day he was about to encounter. Even as he rose to rinse himself and towel dry, steam continued to fill the washroom, flush his pale skin pink. He dragged himself to the mirror and brought a hand to wipe a place for him to look.

There would be no getting around this, he sighed, as his worry-worn expression sighed with him.

Though the hearth’s fire warmed him generously, Aziraphale had little inclination to be caught by his lord husband undressed so late in the morning. The notion of Lord Crowley entering to the room to find him as such is not a confrontation Aziraphale possessed enough courage to endure.

Well, he tugged the robe tighter around his body as he watched the fire, even last night with everything bared his lord husband had no inclination to perform his marital obligations. He shivered, a tension folded twice-over within his stomach and he did not know why.

“ _Enough_ of that.” Aziraphale snapped as he looked around the room in the light of day. Left of the hearth in the corner, a large wooden desk resided with what appeared enough room for two persons to sit at, if the two chairs tucked underneath could be used as proper measurements. He stepped closer, curious. And as he approached the right side of the desk he noted while it was definitely more cluttered than the left, it was filled with familiar items.

His books.

Lord Crowley had unpacked his luggage.

Heavens, he flushed as he flipped the cover of the book on top, eyed it carefully for any sign of mishandling or torn pages. With his critical scrutiny passed, he turned to the left part of the desk.

Lord Crowley’s side, if Aziraphale could be so bold as to consider them to each have a side, was arranged to rigid, almost spartan standards. Not a paper out of place or an ink bottle left opened. In the centre was a folio similar to the one Gabriel had carried with him on their trip north, while to the left-hand side a letter box with some unfolded paperwork rest. He doubted this was his lord husband’s full office, but the notion of an area to, if not work, then conduct lighter activities while in the comfort of a bedroom was rather-

Aziraphale set the book down atop the pile and stepped back. He made his way back towards the washroom and selected the door to its right, closer to the bed.

He opened it and given what he knew about his lord husband already unpacking his luggage, was unsurprised to find the rest of his items within the large closet. A careful step in and he saw on the right side every one of his items arranged, some folded, others hung up, while his shoes were in a neat row underneath. The left-hand side was significantly emptier, and almost everything was black or some shade close to black. Aziraphale assumed this could only be Lord Crowley’s wardrobe. Part of it, that is.

He brought a hand up to touch the expensive looking fabric of a northern style overcoat, unable to resist. As Aziraphale took the overcoat down from its place in the closet and held it out in the bedroom’s light, a smile threatened to break free.

Oxblood. Who knew?

Still, Aziraphale set the overcoat back in place, and looked out to the bedroom where his books were, then into the closet where his clothes now reside.

It was a tad alarming the amount of effort taken in the organising and settling of his items. Had this been done while he slept?

Aziraphale grimaced in embarrassment at the possibility his lord husband might have felt it necessary to act so far beneath his station for his new spouse. There were no other household guests here, no one save for Lord Crowley could have done it. With a roll of his shoulders, Aziraphale determined he would see to it that he apologised for not handling these matters himself, lest the Caelum family be made aware they have shackled the Inferius lord to a slothful individual.

Hastily he pulled down a simple outfit from the closet, forgoing an overcoat and instead figured he would be fine getting away with just a waistcoat over his shirtsleeves. There were only he and his lord husband here anyways, it was hardly improper to do so.

With a glance over his shoulder to the bedroom door, he shed the robe and fought a shiver at being so exposed despite no one else in the room to witness him.

This time, at least.

Aziraphale dressed with care, tucked his shirtsleeves into his trousers and adjusted the cuffs to his exact preference. Forced himself not to think of how last night he had done this in reverse. Before he hung the robe up on a hook behind the door, a shift of fabric caught his eye. Tucked all the way at the end of his side of the closet were a series of unusual overcoats that as he moved his clothing aside, revealed themselves to be not quite what he’d assumed.

He pulled one out, touched his fingers to the unusual embroidery across the shoulders and upper back of the thick fabric, similar in style to the decoration he had seen upon the sleighs and cloaks of the Nusquam people as they had ridden by yesterday. It was far softer than his usual overcoats, so he assumed it to be for indoors, but structured enough it would not look out of place over his southern clothing.

The indoor coat slid smoothly over his shoulders, and as the soft fabric brushed against the exposed part of his nape he was back to last night, facing the fire with Lord Crowley’s gentle breaths against the top of his head as he settled the night robe over his exposed, chilled form.

A shiver ran up his back, in the bedroom there was a loud crackle from the fire as a log split and burst.

There was no possible way he could have gotten this lost. The manor was large, yes, but not a maze certainly.

He had taken a turn somewhere and had come to face the end of a hallway, only for both the left and right corridors to be unlit and yawning black before him. It was a darkness that ached down to his bones and made his eyes hurt from strain. His teeth chattered despite attempts to calm the tremors wracking his body and he could feel each breath freeze on its exhalation. Without the lantern light, Aziraphale felt as though he were out in the blizzard raging across Nusquam.

Rubbing his upper arms through the indoor coat, Aziraphale took a shuddering breath and wished he had waited in the bedroom for Lord Crowley instead of this.

As he shuffled forward on stiff legs, a low voice crept out from the darkness behind him.

“Husband.”

Aziraphale whipped around and flinched as the glow of a lantern met his eyes. He brought his hands up to shield his sight, but the lantern was already lowered as Lord Crowley moved from the shadows, his dark spectacles blotted within the lantern’s glow.

“Apologies,” Aziraphale panted as he clutched where his pounding heart might burst from his chest. “You startled me.”

How had he not heard footsteps against the hard marble floor? Surely, he had not been _too_ lost in his own thoughts at the time, focused on trying to feel his way through the hallways. Lord Crowley held the lantern closer to Aziraphale and in mere moments the chill upon him had dissipated. He sighed in relief and gave a smile of thanks that was not returned.

“Understandable. Called several times but you did not hear me,” Lord Crowley replied shortly as he stepped aside in a silent offer for Aziraphale to walk in tandem with him the other direction. “Not all the hallways are lit. Conserves oil, especially during storms. If you wish to explore let me know. I’ll accompany you.”

Aziraphale’s face went warm and not from the lantern.

“Thank you, I will keep that in mind.”

Lord Crowley hummed in response and brought his free hand to hover along Aziraphale’s lower back as he turned them down another dark hallway. Pinpricks of the near touch sent a shudder through Aziraphale as he tried to maintain his composure.

“I’d been on my way to collect you,” said Lord Crowley, and with a last turn they were at the main room of the estate. “You were not too far off the mark.”

Aziraphale blinked up at the light floating down upon them from that massive chandelier, each one of its candles flickering brighter and then dimmed. Had he truly been that close to the entrance? It felt so much farther.

Without preamble Lord Crowley proffered his arm to assist Aziraphale down the stairs. Hopefully his hesitation to take it was less noticeable than last time, during the wedding which took place within this very manor just yesterday. It was as he slipped his hand into the crook of Lord Crowley’s elbow that he noticed his lord husband had forgone most of his usual attire and was wearing only his dark shirtsleeves.

Aziraphale’s unrestricted fingers came up to flex over the hem of his waistcoat as his flush rose. The impropriety of it all.

Then again, he glanced at their joined arms where his fingers peeked up to glint the gold of his wedding band at him, they were married. It was Lord Crowley’s right to be undressed as such in his own home. He watched Lord Crowley set the now snuffed out lantern on a hook at the base of the staircase in front of the doors which led to the atrium’s hallway, then rest his now free hand atop Aziraphale’s, the leather of his glove surprisingly warm unlike yesterday.

“…Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve not eaten since last evening.”

That, should Aziraphale look into it, was a roundabout way of inviting him to breakfast. Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek in thought as they made an immediate right.

“Yes, that is true. Breakfast would be lovely.”

Lord Crowley nodded and led them to a set of doors near the staircase they just descended. He released his hold on Aziraphale long enough to open the doors and gesture for him to enter the dining room, where a reasonably sized table was set with a fire burning in a hearth similar to but not quite as extravagant, as the one in the bedroom. The entire dining room was decorated in the same style as the rest of the manor, but the curtains were opened on each of the windows to let the grey light of the storm in.

For a moment he stood there and watched the heavy snow whip about until he was led to a seat at the right side of what he assumed would be his lord husband’s.

Lord Crowley pulled out his chair and Aziraphale, having only heard of this sort of behaviour in etiquette books, mumbled his thanks as he sat down.

“Stay here, I will collect your breakfast.”

Aziraphale continued to watch the storm as he replied. “Thank you that’s—”

Wait.

“Ah, but there is no one here. Who would have made the meal?”

His lord husband looked down at him, a sharp brow cocked.

“I did.”

Something between Aziraphale’s ears turned to a block of ice.

“Oh, but you mustn't have!” Aziraphale wrung his hands, unsure where to look as his eyes darted from the table to his lord husband’s face to ultimately land upon the floor.

“You refuse to dine on what I’ve made?” Lord Crowley asked and folded long arms in front of his chest. His thin frown was softened to ease the harshness of his question, yet it did nothing to ease the fluster on Aziraphale’s face, nor the flutter in his throat. He reached up to tug at a cravat not there, settled for adjusting his collar.

Lord Crowley, taking his silence to mean acceptance, returned with their breakfast and set it before Aziraphale's burning, down-turned face.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

Breakfast was a nice, if rather impressive spread of items familiar and not to Aziraphale. A generous portion of toasted bread and dark cheese were on the side, while what appeared to be a meat mixed with egg was on a dish, all of which surrounded a bowl of something close to oatmeal but not quite. It was far more aromatic for starters.

He wondered at the manor’s ability to dry store such items, and bit his lip upon the realisation he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

“The cold keeps foodstuffs remarkably well.” Was all Lord Crowley said on the matter. Aziraphale smothered himself with a piece of toast topped with the meat and egg and found it to contain a type of nicely flavoured fish. It was nothing like a breakfast in the south, but it was quite delicious, Aziraphale concluded as he took another bite of the egg and fish toast before picking up his spoon to try the maybe-oatmeal.

Lord Crowley did not seem to eat breakfast based on the lone cup of black coffee by his left hand. Instead he alternated between his ever-present notebook and watching Aziraphale, who apparently forgot years of lessons on how to properly eat each time his lord husband’s eyes fell upon him.

“How’s your meal?”

Aziraphale winced as his spoon scraped against the bowl.

“Oh, it’s excellent, truly. I appreciate all this.” It was excellent indeed, and he did appreciate it, even if he struggled to process the behaviour. How many spouses can say their lord made them breakfast, Aziraphale absently wondered to himself as he filled his spoon.

“Does - well, if there is no household staff, does this mean you take care of _all_ household matters?”

Lord Crowley looked at him from over the rim of his dark spectacles, the amber glint of his eyes chipped despite the soft light of the dining room.

“I handle most matters, yes.” His lord husband did not elaborate further as he brought his coffee to his lips. Aziraphale sputtered around a mouthful of what he took to in fact definitely be a coarse type of oatmeal, sweetened by sugar and cinnamon that turned bitter in his mouth at his lord husband’s words.

“But this place is enormous! I’m certain a lord has better things to do than make meals and, and—”

 _Wait on their hapless spouse._ Aziraphale bit back the words, terrified of speaking them into existence, hearing them agreed with.

Lord Crowley set his cup down with a sharp, controlled clatter against the table.

“I’m not above household work. Besides, the manor takes care of itself for the most part. Anything else I’m more than capable of handling.” Lord Crowley replied as his lips thinned into a harsh slice across his face, and Aziraphale knew the signs of when a topic best be dropped. He shivered, chastened by the rebuke and went back to his meal, a certainty upon him that the rest of the meal would be spent in silence after his ignorant words.

Consuming the rest of his breakfast would be a test in determination at this point.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to imply...”

“I know what you meant.”

Aziraphale swallowed his spoonful, tasted nothing. “Thank you, though.”

His lord husband flicked his gaze up at him, then back down to his notebook, and said nothing.

The next ten or so minutes were indeed spent in painful silence save for the delicate clink of his silverware and his lord husband’s forceful, scratched writing. It was deserved, as Aziraphale thought further on it, picking sullenly about his dish. He acted as though Lord Crowley had done him a great disservice by making a meal and assuring the daily needs of two people were cared for.

He need not have expressed his shock so poorly, not to his lord husband who had gone out of his way to feed him the day after their wedding. But while he knew his reaction to be out of line, this inevitably led Aziraphale to wonder why there was no staff employed here, even if his lord husband was capable of ‘handling’ the manor. Lord Crowley said he and the manor took care of things whatever that meant, but surely there were things he would become too tired to perform or find _too_ far below his station.

A weak excuse Aziraphale might comfort himself on was that no southern lord, not even members of Aziraphale’s own family, would handle activities such as this. It was unprecedented, that’s all.

Aziraphale dug his spoon into his dish, willed his roiling stomach to settle down so he did not offend Lord Crowley further.

“What’s your occupation?”

Aziraphale nearly dropped his spoon.

“My lord?”

“I asked what your occupation was,” Lord Crowley repeated, his gloved fingers rolled the pen idly as though in between thoughts.

“I’m not sure I understand.” Aziraphale gave up on trying to finish his oatmeal and moved back to his egg and fish toast.

“Your cousin implied you had a great deal of work back at the Caelum family home,” his lord husband flipped a page in his dark notebook, then back to the original one he continued to write on. “I assumed this meant like the others in your family you had an occupation of some sort.”

To call it an occupation was how it was discussed in polite company by his family to others, as Aziraphale did not necessarily generate any sort of prosperity for them. A quality of life increase in terms of their books, records, and the keeping thereof, yes, but little more. Now that he thought on it, with the activity of the past week he had failed to send that one request from a distant relative out. Aziraphale hoped no one noticed.

“Ah,” Aziraphale winced as he took a sip of his water, wished it was a hot cup of tea instead and scolded himself for his continued ungraciousness.

“About that. I tend to the family’s book collection.”

“Tend to.” Lord Crowley’s voice drawled around the words. “Books need to be tended to?”

Finally, it was Aziraphale’s turn to be offended. He squared his shoulders as best he could while holding a half-eaten piece of toast.

“I maintain the family’s centuries old collection of priceless books and documentation. Along with that I assist others in locating important works, acquiring new ones, and, perhaps my favourite part, I restore damaged ones.”

Favourite would not be the correct term, as at times in his private quarters he railed at the audacity of its prior owner when a mishandled book fell under his care. Although, he trusted only himself with the task so it might as well be something he enjoyed even if no one else did. Lord Crowley, to his surprise, seemed to find this interesting as he ceased writing. He folded his hands and rest his chin upon them as he stared at Aziraphale, dark spectacles obscured the amber eyes he knew lay behind them.

“You say you enjoy restoring them?”

Aziraphale nodded, eyes focused back onto his plate at the sudden attention.

Lord Crowley unfolded his long body from the chair and stood as he tucked his paperwork and fountain pen under his arm.

“Once you are finished with your meal, please come meet me in the library.”

A library. There was a _library_ here.

“Wait!”

Lord Crowley halted, brows raised to his hairline and undoubtedly surprised at the continued unruliness of his spouse. Aziraphale sunk further down into his chair, flushed.

“I’m afraid I do not know the way to where you mentioned.” A library, how exciting. If he could learn to behave in non-familial company, he might actually get the opportunity to see it.

There was a tense silence as Lord Crowley stared down at him, handsome face inscrutable. Then, as though he had never meant to depart, he sat back down and re-opened his notebook.

“Ah, yes thank you.” Aziraphale glanced about the dining room, at the numerous lit candles, the way their flames were steady and bright. Desperate to keep Lord Crowley here until Aziraphale finished his meal, he reached for any conversation he could muster.

“So, what exactly do you do?”

His lord husband ceased his writing and looked at him, brow knitted together in what Aziraphale took to mean impatience at once more having been interrupted. He ploughed on despite everything in him saying to be quiet.

“Outside of being a lord, I mean.”

Goodness, how do other married couples handle this day in and day out for the rest of their lives. Did the matriarch understand what she has arranged them into, what she signed his lord husband up for? He hoped whatever both family sides intended on accomplishing here did not rely on his social graces.

Lord Crowley leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest as he replied. “Lordship is an occupation in and of itself. At least, within this region. I don’t know of others nor of your own lands. My primary role is to maintain and oversee the entirety of Nusquam.”

He worked his sharp jaw for a moment.

“Should there need to be anything fixed, or a legal matter brought to the capital, I take care of it.”

Gabriel went to the capital, Aziraphale recalled. Hopefully he made it there safely. “Is there, I mean, do you head to the capital often?”

His lord husband shook his head.

“Not unless I have to. We’re semi-autonomous as it were.”

“I see.” He did not, but Lord Crowley should not know that. “And what of your family? The rest of the Inferius, that is.”

“My family resides here. We don’t travel as much as before. You’ll see them occasionally come by for some matter or another.” Lord Crowley reached for his cup and took a long sip. “None of them are very talkative but they’ll be polite to you, fear not.”

It had not been a fear until now, but Aziraphale appreciated the reassurance. He thought back to his first encounter with the Inferius back at the Caelum ancestral home, enshrouded and unyielding but not to the point of abrasive. Aziraphale gave a hum of acknowledgment and went back to his meal, unsure of what conclusion he could draw from this. Lord Crowley seemed forthcoming by nature, yet Aziraphale could not help but notice the gaps in dialogue, where he left out information.

Maybe he was providing it all, and Aziraphale could not see it clear enough.

“Are you wanting more?”

Aziraphale startled, craned his neck to see Lord Crowley standing at his side, a hand touched to the edge of his plate.

“Oh, I - I mustn't really it’s—”

“It’s what.”

Aziraphale bit his lip as his lord husband waited for an answer he struggled to place into words. He was incapable of explaining the years of subtle and not so subtle remarks, the endless stream of critiques on his appearance and eating habits. With all his upbringing at his disposal to face this permanent audience of one he now had, Aziraphale did not know which of these corrections would be what made him acceptable in his lord husband’s eyes. The prospect that none of it would suffice kept him locked in silence.

He did not protest when his lord husband lifted his plate, but he could not fight the fear he’s failed somehow.

“I’ll return with the rest.”

As he had last night, Lord Crowley led them through the complicated corridors. Aziraphale paid more attention than he did earlier, but found that staying at Lord Crowley’s side was his best chance at not getting lost again. Memories of the chill in his bones from his earlier wandering compelled Aziraphale to shuffle closer to Lord Crowley, the lantern’s warmth an alluring beacon. Occasionally, he could not help but stop to take in the sparse art pieces that adorned the manor’s walls, and Lord Crowley would silently wait as he took his fill before they continued on.

“Apologies for delaying you,” Aziraphale said after they began to walk again after his lord husband explained the history behind a statue in this part of the hallway. “I’m sure you have other things to do besides escort me.”

Lord Crowley made a noise somewhat close to a snort, and held the lantern up in his unwavering grip.

“Hardly.” He pointed past Aziraphale to a set of dark doors adorned with wrought iron handles.

“We’re in front of the library anyways.”

Lord Crowley pushed the doors open for Aziraphale to enter, his lantern dimmed as the library was already illuminated from the light pooling in from the high windows.

“My goodness.” Aziraphale breathed as his eyes jumped across each towering bookshelf, each one crammed with books of all sizes and seemed to reach the very top of the room. He made to delve into the trove of materials present when he heard the sound of stone and metal scraping behind him. Off to his right Lord Crowley was crouched in front of an empty hearth, his lantern set down next to him as he struck a match against the stone.

“A fire in the library!” Aziraphale blanched as his lord husband set the lit match against the timber in the hearth and it flickered to life.

“But, but the books!”

His mind’s eye could already see the dry air and paper of this enormous library light up faster than a dried pine tree. Flames unleashed to greedily turn this place that was to be his home straight to ash. What luck that would be, to render Lord Crowley homeless over his inability to handle the cold here.

Lord Crowley glanced over his shoulder at Aziraphale then rose to his full height - an impressive slice of black that cut the fire light in half once more - to set the fire iron aside. In a short stride he went around to the side of the hearth and pulled into view a large wrought iron gate and swung it open on it creaking hinges to corral around the blazing fire. As he set the gate down it shook the floor underneath Aziraphale’s feet, and he warily glanced over to the bookshelves as a coat of dust fell.

Neither his lord husband nor any of the Inferius must read in this case. Aziraphale pursed his lips, resigned to scrubbing this place down during the storm.

“Feel better about the fire now?”

Aziraphale wrung his hands and sighed, which his lord husband took as concession by the way he went to sit down nearby the desk, a monolith of sturdy dark wood and wrought iron that Aziraphale’s eyes widened to behold. His fingertips brushed against a dusty book on the desk as he already planned the ways he might lay out his workplace, where he could sit for hours absorbed in a book pulled from any of these shelves.

“I know you have much to explore here. Before I leave you be, do you happen to already have a list of your restoration items?” Lord Crowley’s voice was gentle somehow, and Aziraphale felt himself coaxed from his daydreams as opposed to startled out of them.

“Well, I - that is I tend to have a template of items I follow when,” he swallowed, painfully aware of how dull this must sound.

“When I must restore or rebind a book. Each one is different though.” Aziraphale continued in a rush but Lord Crowley did not interrupt, waited even as Aziraphale took a steadying breath and tried again. “Depending on special circumstances and the needs of the book, that list might vary.”

Lord Crowley nodded slowly; his brow furrowed as he seemed to process this. It was not terribly interesting, even Aziraphale could admit as such, but he appreciated his lord husband not dismissing the notion outright as so much of his family has done in the past. And, if they caught him here, no doubt they would continue to do so.

“As you go through the books here and you find any of these ‘special circumstances’ make a note of the items you think you’d additionally need. I’ll get what you’ve already written down once the storm calms.” As Lord Crowley uncrossed his legs and made to stand the book in Aziraphale’s hand slipped to crash onto the desk.

“Oh,” Aziraphale whispered, startled by the noise and his own carelessness with the ancient tome as he went to pick it back up. “Forgive me I—”

Lord Crowley moved closer.

“Something the matter?”

Aziraphale did not know if this was a test or not, just as he did not know if last night had been, or breakfast had been. If they all were tests, failing this one would be no different.

“Could we perhaps… go together?”

Lord Crowley took the book from Aziraphale’s limp hands, did not reply as he turned it over and opened it to a random page.

“Only,” Aziraphale tugged at his collar to ease the pressure of the knot in his throat. When did it become so warm in here? “I have not had much time to explore the area and well, if, I am to—”

Lord Crowley closed the leather book in his hand with a snap loud enough to make Aziraphale wince, but his neutral expression had turned pensive. “Together? Yes, that’s a thought.”

He looked down at Aziraphale as though it were a natural movement less than a day into their marriage.

“There happens to be a place in the nearby villages that undoubtedly would have your items. If you’re amenable to it, I have several errands I must run while there.”

Aziraphale did not speak, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“You’re welcome to wander the villages, of course. The peoples of each one have been made aware of your name and presence. They will treat you with the respect befitting their lord’s husband.” Lord Crowley paused, then, after a brief consideration.

“Or, you can accompany me. Either works.”

That was handled much better than Aziraphale expected.

“I, I would like that. If you let me accompany you, that is.” Aziraphale tried, and felt the tension in his throat ease when Lord Crowley nodded.

“Sounds like a plan. For today, I have a few things to tend to,” Lord Crowley said in response and tucked his notebook once more under his arm as he stepped towards the door.

“What do you need to do?” At the way his lord husband’s brow rose Aziraphale knew he should have minded his own business, but Lord Crowley did not comment.

“Paperwork mostly.” He reached for a book on a nearby shelf with a soot covered glove and halted at the noise of distress Aziraphale let out. “The first storm is an excellent time. Allows me to get most of it done before the inevitable influx.”

Aziraphale, desperate to recover from his latest slip up, gave an uncertain smile.

“I believe you said the manor takes care of itself.”

“Yes, I did.” Lord Crowley looked like he was trying not to react if how deep the lines around his mouth became. “I will collect you for dinner, do you have a preference?”

“Oh, ah.” Anything that did not require effort on his lord husband’s part, but he’d rather not relive this morning’s awkwardness. “Not really. I’m afraid I do not know much of the local cuisine.”

Lord Crowley waved a hand as he made his way to the library doors.

“That can be remedied in time.”

When dinnertime rolled around, Aziraphale had managed to locate fourteen books in dire need of immediate repair, and at least three hundred different documents about to crumble apart in his hands. The desk was stacked and arranged with the results of his findings, but Aziraphale did little more than stare at them, a pen in hand as his list of needed items grew far larger than he originally intended.

“Well then,” he breathed as he dusted himself off as much as he could. A pat of his trousers shook even more dust from his person, and he ruffled his hair which led to a sneezing fit.

Bleary-eyed and rather put off, Aziraphale rubbed his nose with the last clean portion of his handkerchief.

“…At least I will have something to occupy my time with.”

There were no windows in the library save for ones built high up to allow some measure of airflow, but Aziraphale could tell the daylight had waned as he whiled his hours away in the comfort of this library.

Lord Crowley would be expecting him for dinner soon.

Aziraphale stood and felt his back pop from the level of exertion he has endured today, far more than any he could recall in his life. The fire echoed his back as it continued to crackle and snap with its own enthusiastic energy that seemed to mock him.

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale muttered as he went over to the fire. His lord husband might find a fire in the library an acceptable risk but Aziraphale would not be the one that let a stray spark light the entire place up.

In what might be a fit of irony, Aziraphale traced the wrought iron of the hearth gate to find the metal had been shaped into what appeared to be trees. What would Nusquam look like without all this snow, Aziraphale tried to visualise, and found himself drawing a blank. Imagination often eluded him, and the thought of Nusquam in the summer did as well. He sighed as he made to draw the hearth gate away so he could smother the fire.

It did not budge an inch.

“Heavens,” Aziraphale panted as his grip slipped. With a shake of his hands to lose the sting, he tried once more to yank on the gate only for it to still not move. It felt as though the gate were bolted into the floor.

How had Lord Crowley managed to move this, let alone pick it up without hurting himself?

Defeated, Aziraphale let go to bring a hand up to his damp brow. It would not benefit him to be late to his first dinner with his lord husband over his inability to move a fireplace’s covering. With one last wary look to the fire, merrily crackling from its place tucked behind the immovable hearth gate, Aziraphale shut the library doors with a tad more force than needed, and followed the winding lit hallways to his dinner.

Aziraphale set his book down on the night table and tugged his reading spectacles off to set atop it as he rubbed his eyes. Each of his candles was nearly melted down to the base, and his supply would continue to run low until he could purchase more at the village.

The week has passed by in a slow cadence, the storm outside raged on with bitter howling winds that did not seem to rattle the windows once. Northern homes must be built remarkably well to accommodate such brutal weather. Surely if this type of weather were to ever befall his home region it would be a terrible winter indeed.

His lord husband has still not returned to the bedroom since that first night.

No mention of it has been made through the entire week. Routines were set in place based on that first day and Aziraphale clung to them all as he would a lifebuoy out at sea. Lord Crowley had breakfast ready in the mornings and they dined in relative silence as his lord husband went about some form of work. With the paths to the library and bedroom now continuously lit, Aziraphale navigated these parts of the manor alone, occasionally even late into the night, though he never strayed lest he end up lost again. At times, his lord husband would visit him in the library to fetch a document he needed, or converse on how Aziraphale's work was going, but he never stayed long.

Whether or not he should be concerned, Aziraphale grappled with the dilemma of his lord husband's impassivity towards him through every hour of the day until he passed out from exhaustion. In a fit of defiance tonight, Aziraphale had insisted on putting the worry from his head and decided to catch up on his much-neglected reading. And now, as he settled down into the soft covers of the large bed, he rolled onto his left side to face the curtained windows to let his unbothered thoughts settle him down into a peaceful lull.

Yet as Aziraphale’s eyes shut for the night, one of the heavy curtains fluttered to reveal a spidery frost along the edge of a window, just as it had crept onto the windows back south and onto the train’s as well, not too long ago.

A knock sounded against the bedroom door.

Aziraphale awoke with a gasp yanked straight from his lungs, his heart pounded out a desperate beat as he scrambled up the bed. Shaking hands clutched his robe shut tight around him as the door opened and Lord Crowley stepped into the room.

“Morning,” Lord Crowley greeted Aziraphale without so much as a glance as he made his way over to the hearth. His broad shoulders, covered in their usual dark shirtsleeves, moved with a deep breath and his long hands settled onto his hips as he inspected the pitiful fire.

“Good morning,” his tongue felt as though it had been replaced with iron. He shivered; hands trembled on their grip of his robe. Had a week been his lord husband’s unspoken deadline, and would this morning be what led to the real beginnings of his life here in Nusquam. Aziraphale’s tremors became a physical ache as he sat there in bed and watched his lord husband for any sign of approach. The minutes ticked on as Lord Crowley worked the fire which only seemed to flicker and dim, defiant of its master’s effort to keep it alive. With what sounded like the soft murmur of a foreign language, his lord husband set the fire iron aside to throw another log onto the sputtering flames.

Lord Crowley turned to him, eyes concealed but his dark red brows raised up as he took in Aziraphale still on the bed, unable to move.

“Are you going to get dressed?”

Aziraphale instinctively pulled the robe closer, and the shadows from the fire obscured whatever expression his lord husband made at him. Lord Crowley gave a sharp gesture in the direction of the closet, then turned once more to the fire as he attempted to salvage it. Aziraphale slid out of bed on wobbling legs, unseeing as he grabbed his attire for the day from the closet and darted into the washroom.

As he shut and locked the door behind him, Aziraphale clutched the fabric of his robe as he made a fist just above his heart, unsure if he had been afraid or not.

When he stepped out of the washroom, the fire was burning bright once more and Lord Crowley was seated at the desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Aziraphale had been proven correct it seemed, as he took in the left side once more filled with his lord husband’s work.

“The first storm has ended.” Lord Crowley called to him as he flipped through the papers in his hand, occasionally paused to set one aside with a criteria Aziraphale knew little about. For a moment he felt irrationally connected to the cast aside letter until his lord husband’s words caught up to him.

“It’s over?”

Excitement bloomed in his chest as Aziraphale shuffled to the windows and tugged the heavy curtains aside, eyes wide at the blankets of snow coating the estate’s lands under a soft grey sky. Even the lush green of the enormous garden maze had been covered, as not a single leaf peeked up from amidst the pure white.

“We can head into the villages today if you’re up to it.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale turned to see Lord Crowley already staring at him, face unreadable. “I - I would hate to be a bother.”

Truth be told, he had not expected his lord husband to remember the conversation earlier this week, let alone be the one to bring it back up. Based on how Gabriel had explained the arrangement he assumed he would be confined to the estate the rest of his life. A rather absurd prospect now that he thought about it, but so much has happened and he still knew so little about this place, this world.

Lord Crowley stood and took a step towards him, crossing the room quickly to tug the curtain from Aziraphale’s hand and set it back in place.

“Bother is not the word I’d choose. Let’s see you fed first, and we will head out.”

Although the storm passed in a relative calm, it remained bitterly cold outside.

Lord Crowley had gone ahead to get the sleigh ready, and after Aziraphale had finished his meal he waited inside to peek through the curtains. Far as he could see, all the way to the end of the estate’s road was blanketed in white, the tall garden walls that bracketed and surrounded the estate prevented him from seeing past into the woods beyond. A cut of black came into from the right side, and Aziraphale felt his eyes widened as the pulled sleigh came into view. Unlike the more subdued unpainted or muted tones of the other sleigh Aziraphale saw on his ride to the estate, the one Lord Crowley had was so black it looked as though it had been charred into existence.

He grimaced. Black was a family colour, apparently.

Shrugging his empty satchel, stuffed with his list and empty cloth bags, further up his shoulder, Aziraphale adjusted his winter coat and made for the front doors. Lord Crowley was pulling the heavy doors open by the time he reached them and waited for Aziraphale to slip under his arm and outside.

“How lovely,” he breathed, the crisp air almost biting but not quite against his cheeks and nose.

Lord Crowley came up behind him and draped a long scarf around his neck, dark and luxuriously soft. “Here, cover yourself while we ride.”

“Thank you.” He did have a scarf, but it was back in the bedroom and his lord husband’s was much nicer, so he said nothing more.

To save himself a reply, he adjusted the scarf into a proper position to shield his nose and mouth and create a damp area for to breathe in, sighed as it immediately eased the ticklish cough threatening to emerge. With a careful, steady grip Crowley led them down the snow packed stairs and helped him into the sleigh without a word before he went to the four reindeer that were waiting patiently for their master.

As he settled in the sleigh, Aziraphale had a realisation.

“Is there a stable on the estate?” An estate did not need that much maintenance, Aziraphale might acquiesce, however living creatures would surely need routine attention and care. He would get to the bottom of this eventually, the limit to his lord husband’s seemingly limitless capabilities.

Lord Crowley nodded as he checked the bridle on the last reindeer, his gloved hand smoothed this one’s muzzle as well before he pulled away with a gentle pat.

“Yes, but these are not my reindeer. A farming family who lives just off the estate’s land owns them. Have an agreement to allow their herd free roam and boarding in the stables in exchange for my usage of them as transportation.”

It was… a surprisingly generous thing to offer, Aziraphale admitted. He tucked his chin further into the scarf that smelled delicately of spices and something rather human as his lord husband climbed in beside him and took hold of the reins.

“The sleigh, however, is mine.”

Without a word of warning he cracked the reins and they took off down the estate’s long path at a speed Aziraphale feared might launch him out of the sleigh.

“This seems a bit dangerous!” Aziraphale called out as his grip on the sleigh began to slip from his shaking fingers. “Might we slow down at least?”

“Nonsense,” Lord Crowley replied over the rush of wind around them, and with the reins in one hand he wrapped his other arm tight around Aziraphale and pulled him close.

“We’ll get there just fine.”

Aziraphale, stunned into compliance at the sturdy and warm feel of Lord Crowley against him, was not sure what constituted as fine.

For all the reference of Nusquam being a village, Aziraphale concluded that perhaps his lord husband preferred to measure his realm in a modest fashion.

Nusquam boasted an impressive amount of people as the place was alive even this early in the day. Everywhere he turned a new face greeted him, the streets filled by those walking through the snow, laughing or carrying parcels and chatting among one another.

For all it was frigid here in the north, the people were anything but.

He risked a glance over to his lord husband as the sleigh’s thoroughly warmed up reindeer brought them to a slowdown in front of what was an enormous, busy stable teeming with people and animal alike.

“My lord. An honour to see you hale and whole after the first storm,” a high voice called from under the heavy stable coverings and the owner of it stepped out as she donned a pair of thick gloves, her round spectacles and dark hair dotted with snowflakes. Lord Crowley gave a nod, his grip on Aziraphale’s hands firm as Aziraphale stepped out of the sleigh on shaking legs.

He’ll never survive if this is how his lord husband plans on them traveling.

“I can say the same to you, my lady,” Lord Crowley dipped his chin as the woman walked around the side to begin checking the reindeer, her hands tugging one’s lips up to check the bit in place. “Might I introduce to you my husband, Aziraphale,” Lord Crowley gestured to him and he brought his hands up to his chest as the woman’s eyes slid from the reindeer to him, openly curious. “This is Anathema Device. She heads the entirety of Nusquam’s stabling and sleigh-based transportation.”

Lord Crowley’s voice lowered to where he might only hear.

“Your sleigh from the train station originated from here as well.”

“Ah,” he swallowed, a flush on his face nothing to do with the winter’s cold. The word _husband_ tumbled through his head as he tried to open his mouth and prove himself worthy of the title.

“Thank you for that. It is a pleasure.” He grimaced.

Device only smiled and gave a short bow that seemed customary to these northern people.

“Pleasure is mine, we’ve heard all about you. Welcome to Nusquam, may the first storm’s passing treat you well.”

He assumed that was another custom, and gave a soft smile in return. “To you as well, my lady.”

“I see the stable is already almost full.” Lord Crowley said as he untangled the reins from its place on the sleigh’s front railing where Aziraphale’s hands had nearly crunched the metal into dust during his lord husband’s horrific sleigh driving.

“First storm does it again,” he then muttered to which Device let out a short, melodic laugh much to Aziraphale’s sudden, improper annoyance.

“Yes, you know everyone was itching to get here after a week cooped up. In fact, we’re so overflowing I might have some of my stable hands bring a few of the reindeer up to your estate’s outer lands if that’s alright.”

Lord Crowley gave a soft grunt as he unhitched the reindeer from the sleigh to be released and guided off by a young boy who had appeared.

“You already know the stables are free to use as you please.”

“What I do know is these are Young’s reindeer you borrow; I don’t want to intrude on their claim to the land.” Device walked a respectable distance from them as she led them through the well-kept stables, although Aziraphale felt his lord husband’s presence at his side as though he were still pressed up against him.

He shook his head, rather warm all of a sudden. That was a thought, indeed.

Lord Crowley muttered an unknown phrase under his breath. “Young is simply happy she can send the entire herd somewhere during storms. Her family’s farm has grown far quicker than they expected.”

“Ah yes, her husband was here before the storm with the children asking after any plans to expand Nusquam’s developed lands.”

Aziraphale felt his attention wane as they continued to talk, his eye wandering around the high, arched ceilings of the stable and artfully arranged lanterns that provided light and warmth to all. Everything here was well made. Nusquam, to Aziraphale's limited experience with other places, seemed like that sort of place. Aziraphale touched a hand to the smooth wood of a load-bearing beam, imagined the combined hands that helped stand it up however long ago.

Somehow, the entire village felt well loved.

“How large is Nusquam, exactly?”

They were descending the stairs down from the Device’s village facing front and Aziraphale could see blankets of white as far as he could see. Aziraphale’s eyes, unable to take in so much snow, settled for looking down at his feet to avoid slipping.

“That is something not understood by those visiting here, I’ve begun to realise.” Lord Crowley cleared his throat and proffered a hand for Aziraphale to take. The gesture at once sent a flutter through Aziraphale’s heart and made it tremble. He stepped down into the snow in one piece, however instead of immediately dropping his hand Lord Crowley tucked it into the crook of his elbow, just as he has since they wed. As though Aziraphale’s tension did not radiate from him, Lord Crowley nodded at a throng of returning stable caretakers and continued on with his explanation as they walked under the welcome arch of Nusquam into the lively streets.

“Nusquam is a series of varying sized villages that have the estate as a central location. Although they each possess a different traditional name, all of them consider the name of Nusquam to be theirs and operate under my lordship.”

Aziraphale swallowed. Despite Gabriel’s earlier impressions, it did not sound as though he had married a lord of little importance to this region.

Oh, dear.

“Do you - how many villages fall under the name of Nusquam, then?” Aziraphale watched a sleigh ride by in a flurry of loose snow. With a quick motion his lord husband shifted them closer to the buildings and leaned forward to block the spray of snow that was kicked up as another went by.

“About nine. Some tend to merge then split up over the years. It’s an ever-evolving landscape,” Lord Crowley’s lips pulled. “Well, at least under all the snow.”

Lord Crowley moved them to the front of a store that Aziraphale could see had smoke billowing from its chimney.

“Now, where to first.”

Suddenly, Aziraphale forgot everything he hoped to obtain while here. He fumbled for his list and slid the folded paper out to read through, only to hesitate.

“Ah, I’m not sure,” he admitted as he looked up and around the not-quite-village, unsure what to make of the place now that he knew it was multiple villages instead of one he could ease himself into.

“Might I see?” Lord Crowley held out a hand, and Aziraphale slipped the list into his grip, careful to avoid touching. Shaking the folded paper open Lord Crowley held the list up and looked over the tops of his dark spectacles, eyes darted across each line as Aziraphale fidgeted with the scarf around his neck.

“Some of these will be available along the marketplace corridor. Not too far a walk from here. The store in particular I’d mention would be there.” Lord Crowley said as he read the list.

“You, you know the area well, my lord.”

“I am responsible for its upkeep and wellbeing.” Aziraphale watched an amber eye slide down to look at him as they walked. “Are you from a place where lords do not take care of their people?”

Aziraphale hummed in thought. The notion of lords has over the generations grown uncommon in his country. Although several older families lent their resources and influence to assist the surrounding inhabitants, inherited wealth was becoming scarcer as the years went on.

“Not entirely. My cousin Gabriel would be the closest I have seen in recent years. He works very hard to keep our family in prosperity and good health, but he also does his best to not leave our home village behind as the local government tends to do.”

Lord Crowley gave him a nod in acknowledgment but said nothing more. He folded the list, then paused.

“Is this another part of the list?” Lord Crowley flipped a second paper to face him.

“Oh, ah,” Aziraphale made an attempt to reach for it yet Lord Crowley held it away, face impassive. “That was just a personal list of items I was - well, that is, I had planned on taking time to acquire.”

He winced, then added. “Should it be permissible.”

Lord Crowley did little more than fold the lists and hold them out to Aziraphale who reined in the compulsion to snatch and stuff them in his pocket.

“How about we handle the first list and get to your second along the way.”

It was spoken as though an order, in that usual flat tone Aziraphale now knew his lord husband by, but there was a question lilted at the end and he appreciated the attempt.

“That would work.”

Aziraphale let Lord Crowley guide him through Nusquam as they walked, his eyes cast about as he took in the beautifully wrought archways as they gleamed with snow that several villagers were climbing to brush off to light the hanging lanterns. Each building was unique but as he glanced inside each one, he saw warmly lit interiors, crowded with people smiling, dining, or conversing at tables, over counters. Some were labouring away on their craft and for a moment Aziraphale stopped in front of the open windows of a glassblower’s forge, the heat blazing on his face as he watched two workers inside spin an ornate vase into existence.

Lord Crowley was a silent presence at his side, and only when a glassblower looked up from her craft to wave a white-hot tong at them did his lord husband call a greeting in return. After the glassblower returned to her work, Lord Crowley leaned down.

“The first place is two doors down.”

With a touch of his hand to Aziraphale’s one clasped in his elbow, Aziraphale let himself be led away once more to where a heavily scripted store sign hung above the door and windows. Lord Crowley held the door open and moved Aziraphale in before him as a rush of warm air came billowing out.

“Greetings my lord - and his new husband! How exciting.” The shopkeeper walked towards them with hands open in celebration as the high shelves and stacks of boxes seemed to curve in to greet the shop’s patrons as well. “May the first storm’s passing treat you well.”

“Likewise,” Lord Crowley replied, his fingertips tapping a quick beat atop Aziraphale’s hand. “My husband is a book-restorer by trade, and would like to know what supplies you might have on his list.”

Aziraphale extracted himself from his lord husband’s grip to pull the list from his overcoat’s pocket and hold it out to the shopkeeper. With a soft noise of interest, the shopkeeper plucked a pair of spectacles from their vest pocket. Their thick grey eyebrows crept up their forehead as they read down the list, and equally grey eyes looked past Aziraphale to Lord Crowley.

“Let me borrow your husband for a moment, my lord?”

Lord Crowley pulled a hand away from a stack of rolled papers that protruded near his eye level, and the shopkeeper tutted at him.

He nodded to Aziraphale. “I have an errand to run, so take your time here. I’ll return shortly.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale bit his lip, his hands worried at the edge of the scarf. “Alright, take care.”

Without another word Lord Crowley strode out of the shop and left Aziraphale there to follow the shopkeeper as they motioned for him.

“A book-restorer, hm?” They moved further into the cluttered shop, and Aziraphale hummed in pleasure at the scent of paper and ink wafting around him. “We do a fair amount of that in here, it’s always in demand. Nice to find another patron of the craft.”

Aziraphale relaxed at the topic, it was indeed a treat to find someone who genuinely held such a niche interest. “My family has an extensive library I was in charge of maintaining. Made for a busy life.”

The shopkeeper chuckled as they led Aziraphale between the winding shelves and stacks to a crowded area of the shop with desks that Aziraphale knew were for restorations by the careful coverings and a worker in the far corner hunched over a project. His chest warmed with excitement as he looked around.

“As I’m sure you’ve learned, your lord husband is not fond of reading. Quite a point of contention between he and I,” the shopkeeper said with a smile on their face. “Believe the estate has an extensive archive as well, which you’ve seen and that is why you’re at my shop to begin with. Dreadful thing, keeps most of Nusquam’s records as it is too much a hassle for us here, though.”

That was an immense amount of trust to have in a lord, of all people. Aziraphale gawked most unbecomingly if how loud the shopkeeper laughed was anything to go by. He gave an apologetic smile to a worker in the corner as they looked up and rolled their eyes in annoyance.

“Yes, yes, I know what you are thinking,” the shopkeeper tugged a rickety ladder from a hook on the wall and set it against a wobbling tower of shelves. Aziraphale’s eyes followed the heavy sway of the shelves as the shopkeeper climbed.

“How can we keep track of anything? Well one of his lordship’s relatives is remarkably adept at keeping files. Books, records, you name it she’s got a mind for it.” The shopkeeper checked the list and then tugged a container from atop a shelf to hand down to Aziraphale who winced at the weight before he set it aside. “Considers it her occupation even. Swings through the villages every year and collects anything we want stored, then brings ‘em all up to the manor for sorting and archiving. It’s always a ridiculously chaotic week but it saves us all the burden of tracking our own paperwork.”

Another three containers were pulled down and Aziraphale fretted as he watched the old shopkeeper descend the ladder and drop the containers on a cluttered table.

“Afterwards if we need anything, we either just show up to the manor or find one of the Inferius and they make it happen.”

Aziraphale waited as the shopkeeper opened each container, looked down at his gloved left hand to where he could see where his wedding band disrupted the smooth leather.

“The Inferius seem rather - helpful.”

The shopkeeper alternated between checking Aziraphale’s list and plucking items for him to inspect with a small hum of agreement. Aziraphale in turn either approved or rejected them with a careful eye.

“The family keeps a majority of Nusquam going for certain.” The shopkeeper went around Aziraphale and came back with an armful of various paper stocks. After a beat he dropped the entire stack onto the table with a loud thud that drove the worker in the corner to leave their desk in a huff.

“But don’t get me wrong, they’d all have nothing to do without us.”

“Your ‘shortly’ was anything but.”

Lord Crowley brushed off a scatter of snow that had collected on his shoulders during his time away, scowling at the shopkeeper as he glanced between them. With little more to do with himself, Aziraphale gave a small wave.

“I don’t recall saying you were allowed to bore my husband to death in the meantime.”

“We had an excellent time discussing books, I’ll have you know.” Aziraphale blinked at the shopkeeper’s rude snort. They slid twinkling eyes to him as they dropped their voice to a mock whisper. “See if you can get his lordship to acquire at least some of your appreciation for them. Heaven knows he could learn a thing or two from one.”

Aziraphale, caught between laughter and offense on his lord husband’s behalf, bit his lip as his face heated. His lord husband tapped his foot against the floor in what could only be impatience.

“Yes, maybe next year.” Lord Crowley stepped closer to Aziraphale as a hand gestured to the shop around them. “Did you find everything you needed?”

“He certainly did!” The shopkeeper scoffed as they slapped the high stack of boxes near the counter before they began to write an itemised list. “What kind of shop do you think I run here anyways?”

Aziraphale, for the sake of his lord husband’s pride, looked down as he heard a deep-seated sigh.

“Don’t believe I asked you.” Then, he heard Lord Crowley’s tone ease. “Thank you for your help, nonetheless.”

“Of course, my lord,” the shopkeeper made a note of Aziraphale’s purchases and handed it off to a worker from the backroom they had whistled to come up front.

“We’ll get everything packed up and sent to your sleigh. You’re out at Device’s main stable, yes?”

Lord Crowley nodded as he pulled a long note from his notebook and quickly slashed his signature across the bottom before handing it off to the shopkeeper.

“Put down whatever the cost is and any bank on the western side will have your payment. Plus any additional cost to have a priority account opened for my husband here. Do not attach a limit.”

Aziraphale let out a cry of protest he forced himself to swallow back down as Lord Crowley’s amber stare glinted at him from over his dark spectacles. It would not do to be so disrespectful towards his lord husband in front of others, he saw in the heated gaze of those eyes. Quelled, Aziraphale looked back to the shopkeeper, who seemed to be faring no better. The shopkeeper rubbed at their forehead as they took the note, a slight colour to their face before they called for another worker to fill it out for them.

“Much obliged, my lord.” The shopkeeper stuttered as they turned to Aziraphale, who was certain his own flush must be blistering in comparison.

“Welcome to Nusquam, sir, we hope to see you more often.”

“I have to head to the other side of the villages for something. Western portion.”

“Oh, is it a terribly long walk?” Aziraphale had been standing in that warm shop for a long time, now that he was once more walking in the winter-bitten streets he was not too happy for it. His mind reeled from what just happened, and the notion of that much money being spent on him made his stomach protest strongly to the point he buried his mouth and nose into the scarf for comfort.

“Not at all, each village blends into one another.” Lord Crowley stopped mid-step, then looked down at him. “If you are tired, I can arrange for easier transport. Or acquire any items needed on your behalf.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks warm despite the chilled air. While he was not particularly enthusiastic about all this activity in general, the prospect of sending the lord of Nusquam out on his own personal errands was enough to make him squirm in discomfort.

Yet, Lord Crowley has not scorned him for anything he’s mentioned thus far, and the hesitancy in Aziraphale’s tremble of a spirit clung to that.

“Nothing to fret about really. I’m - just a tad chilly, is all.”

At once Lord Crowley stepped towards him and before he could react the taller man had undone his own cloak to drape over Aziraphale’s shoulders, which drooped under the weight of the heavy, but warm fabric.

“We will have to get you a proper cloak while we are here, then. The south doesn’t understand what cold weather is.”

Aziraphale stepped forward, winced at how the expensive cloak dragged through the snow as he walked. Sparing a glance up at his lord husband, he did not seem to even notice.

“We will acquire things for you as time goes on, naturally.” Lord Crowley motioned for Aziraphale to step past him as he held open the door to another store.

“For now let’s get you some of the basics needed to have a tolerable life here in Nusquam.”

It was relatively crowded but spacious, Aziraphale noticed as they walked into the warmly lit store. His eye traced the dark wooden interior, and how it tastefully contrasted the countless shelves filled with a variety of colours. Several families were present for measurements with several tailors, others purchasing and discussing the finer fabrics offered.

“I’m sure we can find you a few items here.”

All the other patrons looked up at the sound of Lord Crowley’s voice and Aziraphale suppressed his anxiety at the chorus of cheerful greetings, but to his relief they remained respectively apart from them despite their open curiosity. His lord husband’s hands settled on his shoulders, a dual weight felt even through the dense cloak.

“You know your measurements, yes?”

A clothier had come forward upon hearing the commotion and after the now expected greetings and congratulations, he ushered Aziraphale further into the shop to obtain everything from shirtsleeves to socks.

“I truly don’t need all this I’m sure—” Lord Crowley raised a hand in a way that Aziraphale began to assume meant he acknowledged Aziraphale’s words but disagreed entirely. He smoothed a hand down the front of his waistcoat, and accepted defeat. The clothier, having taken from Aziraphale all of his measurements - a feat he tried to say as quietly as possible so his lord husband did not hear - was quite proficient in his work. Lord Crowley during this went to converse with the other patrons as the clothier and Aziraphale discussed timelines and when most items would be ready. Aziraphale expressed his surprised gratitude when the clothier said some were already in stock that would require minor adjustments and could possibly go home with them today.

“Depending on how late you both are in town I can have one of my workers run whatever we complete over to your sleigh. I’m sure you all have been doing quite a bit of purchasing to get you settled here, have you not?”

Aziraphale flushed. It was blunt to ask such things, at least in the south.

“His lordship was rather determined.”

The clothier only smiled and the deep, weathered lines of his face crinkled with it.

“A determined man indeed, but as his husband I’m sure you see another side of that part of him.” Aziraphale balked at the impropriety but the clothier continued on without a care. With a broad hand he inked a stamp on the top of Aziraphale’s order and handed it to the worker who took off through the backroom’s door.

“Don’t be too hard on him if you can, at heart he’s only trying to do what’s best for us all.”

Aziraphale, unsure how to respond, gripped the heavy cloak on him tighter, which caught the clothier’s attention away from the other papers. He looked past Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Are you also here for a cloak for your husband, my lord?”

Lord Crowley, having been occupied with a dark overcoat hanging off a stand, came forward at the sound of his title.

“Yes, that is our immediate need for today. And a pair of actual boots.”

The clothier chuckled as Aziraphale closed his eyes.

“Boots might take a bit more time as I’ll need to get a hold of one of the cobblers down in the eastern village bloc. Let me just put the rest of these in while you two discuss colour.”

Lord Crowley motioned for Aziraphale to follow him to one of the unoccupied dressing areas.

“Any particular preference?” Lord Crowley asked.

Aziraphale looked up, hands clasp in front of himself. “I was actually hoping to ask you the same question.”

“Although the obvious preference is towards my house’s colours, I would see you in fairer ones.” Lord Crowley motioned for the clothier who appeared by his side far quicker than Aziraphale thought warranted. “Please find any cloaks you might have in blues or creams for my husband. Warm fabric, but not weighted for riding or outdoor labour.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Oh, that’s not…” Aziraphale raised a hand to halt the clothier but they were off to the back-room in a flourish. He caught the discreet smile of another browsing patron and flushed before he turned back to his lord husband.

“That really is not necessary.”

“Your entire wardrobe is filled with light colours and thin fabrics,” Lord Crowley went to a nearby armchair to the left of the mirror Aziraphale stood in front of and dropped into it, set a long leg over his knee. “Southern, through and through.”

Aziraphale plucked at the heavy cloak over his shoulders, looked down at the swaths of oxblood and black that covered his favourite waistcoat. Perhaps he did seem rather out of place here. To his left, he heard his lord husband let out a long breath through his sharp nose.

“My lord,” the clothier returned, arms filled past his head with different cloaks. Lord Crowley immediately stood and began to rifle through them to ease the burden in the clothier’s hands and from his own stack he pulled out a series of lighter shaded blues and creams. He held them out to Aziraphale. “Pick any you like.”

Aziraphale, flustered beyond belief, did not take a good look at the cloaks in either the clothier or his lord husband’s hands. He reached for one from each of their grips and grimaced at the weight of them, he would have to decide quickly. In one hand was a shimmering off-white lined and trimmed with an incredibly dark fur. When he held it to the soft winter light pooling in from the window, he caught the ever so slight shift of champagne golden within its native embroidery. The other, he admired a bit closer, came in a delicate robin’s egg blue, this time lined and trimmed with a rich sable colouring. As he held this one up to the light there was no hidden shimmer, but the blue seemed as though it shifted in waves.

The Caelum family preferred uniform clothing, modest in cut and colour. Gabriel’s muted greys and Michael’s sharp earth tones were common schemes for his family to wear throughout the ages. He was certain somewhere in the matriarch’s rules and regulations for his family there was a careful list of acceptable clothing types down to the exact fibre count, but he was not inclined to go searching of his own accord.

As he held both up to the mirror, each one almost decadent in softness and quality, a guilt settled in his chest over how much of a Caelum he was to find both cloaks too much. And how little he was becoming, to find them perfect. Aziraphale looked away to catch the flash of his lord husband’s dark spectacles directed at him.

How was it that whenever he went to look at Lord Crowley, he always seemed to be doing so first? It sent something warm bubbling in his chest.

The clothier, having returned from putting up the other cloaks, came to stand behind Lord Crowley.

“My lord, have you decided on one you prefer?”

Lord Crowley did not turn away from Aziraphale, so he forced himself to do the same.

“We’ll take both.”

“I’ve that one last errand before we stop for lunch.” Lord Crowley said as they departed the store, his right arm with Aziraphale on it and his left carrying the cloth bag containing Aziraphale’s other cloak. Aziraphale sighed at the thought of lunch, he has been curious to try the local cuisine ever since he arrived. That and he was feeling as though breakfast had been far longer ago than it truly was.

As he touched his fingers to the sable collar, the guilt in his chest rekindled. “Thank you, you truly did not have to.”

Lord Crowley did not have to do any of this, really, but Aziraphale did not want to appear ungrateful. The exact opposite, but Aziraphale could not accurately convey the fact he was caught flat-footed time and again by his lord husband’s behaviour towards him.

“You are my husband,” Lord Crowley hissed out on a sharp puff of clouded air as if that explained everything. With the cage of his right arm he corralled Aziraphale closer to let another couple pass by. They nodded in greeting to his lord husband and gave Aziraphale kind smiles he returned with more confidence than before. Nusquam’s people might claim different villages, but they all were cut from the same welcoming cloth.

Emboldened by the villagers’ attitude, he turned to his lord husband. “What errand are you needing to run?”

Lord Crowley nodded to a passer-by on a small, fast sleigh that called his title, and had them cross the street, nearly perfect in the white snow upon it as it continued to fall in slow waves down.

“I have to pick up the post. Now that the storm’s passed we’ll be getting an influx of delayed letters.”

“You don’t have the post delivered to the estate?” Aziraphale asked, and Lord Crowley glanced down at him with narrowed eyes based on what he could see from the side of his glasses.

“Why would I have someone ride all the way there in the snow when I need to come here on a regular basis.”

Aziraphale flushed. That was a good point.

“Forgive me, I - I’m just trying to learn how all this works, really.” Lord Crowley was nothing like what Aziraphale knew of nobility, yet he carried himself with such efficient authority. The dichotomy of his lord husband was impossible to keep track of, no matter how hard he worked to match it. He felt Lord Crowley’s arm shift under his grip, and Aziraphale tensed at the possibility he might withdraw.

“That’s true,” his lord husband murmured as if in thought. “You’re very far from home, after all.” They continued to walk, and in the distance Aziraphale saw a sign for a post office. “I will explain some things over lunch if you wish.”

Aziraphale sighed out his relief and did not resist his lord husband’s corral of him once more as they passed through a crowd to enter the post office.

“That would be appreciated.”

“Hello, my lord,” the postmaster at the counter greeted upon the bell chiming sweetly overhead.

“I trust you and the family fared the storm well,” Lord Crowley gave in lieu of a greeting as they walked into the rather large postal office. Almost as well-crafted as the stables had been, in Aziraphale’s mind.

“This village handles the post for all the others,” Lord Crowley leaned in to explain as Aziraphale took in his surroundings and shook off the snow which had gathered on his cloak. He nearly jumped when he felt the skim of his lord husband’s hand along the back of it to loosen the rest. This was all rather much. He mumbled what he hoped sounded like thanks.

The postmaster came around from behind the counter to give a short bow to them both. “It’s a pleasure to meet his lordship’s husband. We’ve heard much about you.”

“Ah, thank you,” Aziraphale worried his hands around his cloak. “I’m honoured to join your village.”

Lord Crowley cleared his throat. “Has the post already been sorted?”

The postmaster slipped back behind the counter and waved them on back.

“Most of it. We got yours done first as I knew you’d be stopping by the moment the storm let up.”

Suddenly, the postmaster turned to give Aziraphale a polite smile. “You received your fair share as well.”

Aziraphale glanced up at Lord Crowley, watched his eyes shift to look down at Aziraphale. He turned back to the postmaster as he remembered something.

“Oh, do you happen to have something called a telegraph?” Gabriel would be asking after it the moment he could get a letter out.

The postmaster waved away the other worker that had come by to hand her a form, but mostly to meet Aziraphale and Lord Crowley. “We do but it’s rather rudimentary, very early stages of the thing in my opinion.”

She nodded over to where Lord Crowley had gone to discuss a large blueprint one of the other workers had managed to coax him over with. “His lordship had heard about the invention and determined we should immediately adopt it so that we are not left behind.”

The postmaster continued to pull several wax wrapped envelopes in varying sizes from the wall cupboard and set them to the side.

“Many in the Inferius family found the notion useless, but he dismissed them and decided their opinions on the matter were the real useless part.”

Aziraphale blinked at that. “Do he and his family not get along?”

“Oh, they all do just fine, it’s an odd dynamic they have. Don’t understand most modern amenities is the running theme of the Inferius.” The postmaster laughed as though at an inside joke. “Stuck in the dark ages, they are.”

He gave an uncertain smile in return, kept it on his face as the postmaster began to gather his lord husband's items.

“Wait,” Aziraphale remembered upon Lord Crowley’s return to his side after the postmaster walked off to send the bulk of their mail out to the sleigh with a courier. “If Nusquam is already equipped with communications, why did Gabriel have to go to the capital?”

“He went to the capital you say?” Lord Crowley did not look up as he flipped through the tabbed folders of what he had explained to be his personal post. “That's a very far trip. No doubt it'll take him at least two weeks to return if not longer. What with the storm up there and all.”

Aziraphale had the sudden, irrational thought that Lord Crowley deliberately failed to intervene when Gabriel mentioned he would head to the capital, but said nothing, his mouth trembling with the indecision to laugh or scold. Either one would be terribly improper to respond with, especially for a man of his lord husband’s station. The notion of him doing something so scandalous would be absurd. He hid his smile behind a hand as he looked around the postal office.

“You received a few letters,” Lord Crowley held them out, tied primly together with a little piece of twine. He recognised the familiar stark white of his family's letters, knew each one bore the traditional seal.

As much as Aziraphale enjoyed letters, ones from his family oftentimes dampened that feeling.

“What came for you?” Aziraphale asked as he worried the thick fabric of his cloak in hand before he took the slender bundle and absently set them aside on the counter. The post could wait until he was back at the manor, where it was far warmer and drier and he was not on his feet for hours at a time.

“Requests for meetings, which should be in my other post,” his lord husband replied as he deftly flipped through them, arranged them in an order he must know without thought. “Several of the villagers are interested in throwing a formal celebration—”

Aziraphale dropped his cloak.

“—But I have no desire to subject you to such things,” Lord Crowley continued without a hitch as he lifted the cloak from the ground to set atop the counter. “Outside of that, more business and some Inferius family work disguised as social calls. Boring as usual.”

Lord Crowley went back to his stack of post and plucked an off-white envelope out, raised a brow.

“Save for this. Looks like someone in your family addressed a letter to me.”

That hurt more than Aziraphale expected it to. While Gabriel insisted before the wedding that Aziraphale would always be a Caelum, the rest might not follow that mentality. No doubt happy to have him out of the family for good and under the wing of another’s. He has not looked at the marriage certificate - did he still even have the Caelum name?

The envelope appeared under his nose. “Here, you open it.”

“Pardon?”

“While I appreciate the attempt at propriety,” Lord Crowley’s lip twitched at the word. “Poor behaviour on their part to not address it to both of us.”

Aziraphale frowned. “My family has been most accommodating of the situation, I’m sure they meant no disrespect.” He had to believe in that, the alternative was rather unbearable at the moment. Lord Crowley did not respond, instead he gathered all their items and for the first time Aziraphale realised his satchel was no longer on his person. Instead it was swung over his lord husband’s right shoulder as he tucked the rest of their personal post away. How long his lord husband has carried it Aziraphale could not guess, and settled for ever since they arrived. 

Good Heavens, is he ever going to get any of this right.

“Care for lunch now?”

He wanted to resist, defend his family from an outsider’s judgment which could only end quite poorly for himself. Or perhaps demand his satchel back, but it looked rather heavy and he did not want to risk his lord husband actually handing it back to him.

“Yes, I would like that.”

“Oh, they have tea.” Aziraphale caught sight of a server walking by with a tray and sighed.

Lord Crowley looked up. “You enjoy tea?”

“It is very common in my region to have it throughout the day,” Aziraphale said, unable to contain the thread of wistfulness in his voice as he looked at the menu only to frown when the text was in a language he could not understand. He closed it with a sigh.

“I can read it for you,” Lord Crowley reached for the menu and Aziraphale handed it over, waited as his lord husband flipped through it.

“For tea, are you looking for something sweet or more spiced?”

Aziraphale blinked. The southwestern region he was from preferred mostly black teas, and he grew up drinking only a specific kind in that regard.

“I don’t drink tea, but this region is well known for a native blend.” Lord Crowley continued, then looked at him from over the top of his dark spectacles.

“Want to try it?”

“Ah, well.” What’s the harm. “Would you be so kind as to order on my behalf?”

Lord Crowley nodded, then opened the menu and began to list out items that would be available for lunch. Eventually, as the names and descriptions became more complicated, Aziraphale yielded to another recommendation from his lord husband.

It was relatively herbal, but sweet and as Aziraphale sipped it he grew to enjoy the unique flavour that spoke of the winter land he now lived within. Alongside his meal - a lovely dish his lord husband had called _gravlaks_ that came with a generous portion of warm bread and mushroom soup - it was a pleasant experience. He took care to listen as Lord Crowley spoke with the several villagers that had come by their table to greet them both and even give Aziraphale suggestions on parts to visit in Nusquam. One memorable elderly couple came by to ask his lord husband about the opening of a new sleigh route along Nusquam’s western perimeter, and the gentleman had quite the opinion on the matter.

“Now I’ve forgotten what we were to talk about,” Lord Crowley sighed as he turned back to Aziraphale, dark notebook finally closed as he finished his notes from the last of villagers.

“The first storm always brings new things people discover they need. Or dislike.”

There was a flutter to be found in his chest as Lord Crowley focussed once more upon him. He looked down at his dish, then out to the restaurant brimming with families and couples alike as they took their lunch. Loud laughter and smiles to be found in all the bright corners of this cosy place.

“It’s quite alright. You… your people, they adore you,” Aziraphale said as he watched a young duo depart, arms interlinked and smiling at one another. The flutter in his chest threatened to kick up a storm of its own before he quelled it with another mouthful of soup. It was rather good.

“Hm,” Lord Crowley brought his own dark drink to his lips and grimaced. “I assume it is closer to obligation than adoration.”

Aziraphale glanced out to the restaurant once more, then let it go. He took another sip of his tea to swallow whatever his working mind might have said.

“We didn’t have tea at your breakfast,” Lord Crowley said as he tapped a gloved finger against the rim of his cup. Meanwhile Aziraphale held his teacup away from his mouth as though he were caught committing a crime.

“Oh, no we did not but that is—”

“Excuse me,” his lord husband raised a hand to a passing server who jumped to approach him.

“Lord Crowley!” The server smiled and bowed shortly at him, to the attention of other patrons. “May the first storm’s passing treat you well.”

Aziraphale began to wonder if this would be something he’d have to greet everyone with.

Lord Crowley nodded. “You as well. My husband-” He gestured to Aziraphale and the server turned to face Aziraphale with wide, curious eyes.

“Congratulations on your marriage and welcome to Nusquam. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Aziraphale smiled, certain he would be hearing this for quite some time. The alternative reaction they could have towards him was far worse, he tried to reason with his fluster.

“Yes,” Lord Crowley continued once more, voice a drawl. “My husband is interested in knowing where in the village you stock your tea from.”

Aziraphale gaped at Lord Crowley. He had said nothing of the sort!

The server paused, then looked up in thought. “Many are imported from the east, but we do have some local ones available such as the one you are drinking. Excellent choice by the way! The majority of the ingredients for that blend are grown nearby here.”

Lord Crowley re-opened his notebook with a sigh and set his pen once more to paper.

“Near the eastern side’s watermill? Not sure how one can grow tea at such an arid elevation.” For someone that does not drink tea Lord Crowley knew enough about it, Aziraphale mused as he sipped his tea.

“No no, it’s grown past the watermill further down the mountain’s side in those steppes. Humidity is manufactured from the blow off.”

This went on for some time. Aziraphale watched over his meal the server and his lord husband deepen the conversation into a granularity about Nusquam that he was not sure he could even keep up with. They eventually circled back to the original topic with little to show for it.

“Surely they distribute it within the village, but if not that’s fine.” Lord Crowley glanced over to Aziraphale with a frown. “I will make the trip once I return you to the manor. You don’t need to walk that far.”

Aziraphale flushed brilliantly as the server hid their laughter with a cough, no doubt finding him little more than a spoiled southerner by now.

“Let me talk to the owner before you all leave.” The server glanced over to Aziraphale with a wink, much to his surprise. “I believe she’ll know where in Nusquam we get it from. A quick stop at one of the import shoppes wouldn’t be too much of a problem I’m sure.”

Lord Crowley waved the server off. “Thank you, but if you can just get me the name that would be all I need. I promised him we’d be done for the day.”

Aziraphale dropped his silverware. “No, it is quite alright!” He flushed as both their attentions went to him, the server’s bemusement counterbalanced by Lord Crowley’s stern frown.

“I’ve rest plenty while we’re here,” he tried to smile around the words with what he hoped looked confident.

“That is, if you don’t mind.”

The server gave them both a smile and a short bow. “I will return with the name of that shoppe and more tea for you.”

“Apologies,” Aziraphale mumbled when the server departed from view into the bustling restaurant, his grip on the teacup a tremor.

Lord Crowley only shook his head, long fingers tapping against the table across from Aziraphale’s. “No need to apologise to me. Didn’t want you pushing yourself on your first day out in town.”

Aziraphale looked down into his tea, the residual herbs carefully swirled as he brought the teacup back to his lips. Despite what he hoped to interpret as consideration for him, it would not do for his lord husband to assume him incapable of being around what would be his people.

“Thank you, but I should be fine,” he replied before glancing up to see Lord Crowley dip his chin in acknowledgment.

“We have a few more hours of daylight. If you wish to stay in town until then, we will.”

Aziraphale thought about another meal without tea, and decided he best fill the time with questions as they wait for the server to return.

The server had indeed returned with the name of a shoppe that stocked a variety of teas in a quantity that could hold Aziraphale over between storms and trips. With a leisurely stroll down to a village in the middle of Nusquam they came upon an import shoppe that provided not only tea but all sorts of items and foodstuffs from around the continent. Aziraphale had been ushered around the store by a young worker to test several brews, and as he settled on a selection he enjoyed, Lord Crowley was already at the counter in heated discussion with another worker to put a routine order plan in place.

“How about I put in an additional order of… this much… Would that work?” The worker offered as they ran down the list and pointed to a number, but Lord Crowley shook his head.

“No. Whatever you think is the normal amount it’s not going to be enough. Southerners consume it with everything. At all hours.”

“With _everything_? My lord please tell me you’re aware how expensive it is to merely import some of your husband’s choices?”

Lord Crowley tapped shortly at the paper in the worker’s hand with his fountain pen.

“Are you aware that if you do this I’ll be your biggest customer?”

“Well—”

The worker at Aziraphale’s side looked at him. “So, would you say at least half a kilo of each a month?”

Lord Crowley and the other worker looked up at him. Aziraphale felt his face warm. He really should not have said anything.

“Far less would - would do just fine, thank you.”

“Are you certain that was necessary?”

Lord Crowley tucked the exorbitantly priced acquisitions into Aziraphale’s satchel and slung it once more under his cloak as the shop door shut them out into the streets.

“Tea is not a popular drink here. You’d end up short every month.”

Aziraphale stared at his appropriated satchel which now contained his tea stock for the month, then let his hand slip into its place in Lord Crowley’s offered arm. It was just another piece of the puzzle that was his lord husband, yet he felt no clearer a picture was presented to him.

“What do you say we head home?” Aziraphale nearly tripped and felt Lord Crowley swing around in front to catch him. He was impossibly sturdy under Aziraphale’s fingertips, and his words echoed in his mind as his lord husband carefully righted him.

Home. As he has considered the manor to be no more than a dark, intimidating maze, it was home to his lord husband. Aziraphale looked up to the darkening sky, out to the village streets as several villagers were lighting more of the lanterns for the crowds still out.

This all was his lord husband’s home. It was supposed to be his too.

He looked up to see Lord Crowley’s gaze on him.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

Lord Crowley nudged him forward, and the snow began to fall in large, white flakes upon them as they were in an area Aziraphale recalled from earlier that day.

“We’re almost back. Over there you can see the top of the stables,” Lord Crowley said and through the falling snow Aziraphale saw an ornate flag fluttering atop the tallest part of the stables, defiant against the dark sky.

As he was led up the stairs Aziraphale heard voices inside and saw the stable keeper speaking animatedly with a young man about her age dressed in heavy leathers.

“Newt,” Lord Crowley called as they came closer. “May the first storm’s passing treat you well.”

The young man smiled easily, then faltered at the sight of Aziraphale as he glanced down at Device with obvious question on his face.

“Good to see you all back,” Device said with a nudge in the young man’s side. “This is my husband, Newt. That’s Lord Crowley’s new husband, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale hoped she did not intend to imply there was an old husband.

Newt’s expression cleared and he stepped forward with a hand extended. “Pleasure to meet you—”

Horror flooded his body as Aziraphale recoiled and Lord Crowley stepped in front of him in one smooth stride. His grip on Aziraphale’s arm a vice.

“Ah, I’d, I mean.” Aziraphale stuttered, eyes squeezed shut at the wave of disconcertion that washed over him. No one in his family approached like this, and everyone outside the family, in his hometown, knew better than to breach Caelum’s conduct in such a way. Newt retracted his hand as his eyes darted from Lord Crowley’s towering form to Aziraphale. Behind him Device sighed loudly and muttered what sounded like a curse.

“Apologies for the overstep to you and your husband, my lord.”

“No harm,” Lord Crowley replied in a low tone, then moved out from Aziraphale’s view to his place at his side once more.

Device came closer, a hand on her husband’s arm. “Do forgive my husband, he’s from a region of the continent very fond of getting in people’s business.”

“Anathema,” Newt scolded in a soft tone, but slipped his arm from her grip to take her hand. Aziraphale swallowed, tugged the scarf tighter around his neck. His eyes kept tracking back to their joined hands. How easy they made it seem.

“It’s quite alright.”

“Of course.” Newt raised his free hand to gesture to the main stable building. “Let me make up for it, we were about to sit down for the first storm’s dinner. Would you care to join us?”

He did not have a chance to stumble through a response as Lord Crowley steered him towards the sleigh.

“Let me talk with my husband. We had been discussing evening plans before we’d arrived here.”

Device and Newt waved them off as they turned their attention to a stable worker that came over covered in what looked to be hay. His lord husband watched them for a moment before he looked down at Aziraphale.

“Are you wanting to stay?”

“I…” As much as he wanted to refuse, he was a lord’s husband now. These sorts of encounters, social calls, were going to become commonplace. A life sequestered with his books would not be allowed here in Nusquam, in that manor which looked more like a sanctuary when faced with this prospect.

Snow crunched under his lord husband’s boots as he stepped closer, and Aziraphale kept his focus on a space near Lord Crowley’s chest, unable to look up.

“It’s been a long day for your first trip into town. We can visit them another time.”

Aziraphale held his cloak tight over himself, unable to respond. His lord husband knew that was not the truth, and it made Aziraphale ache with guilt.

“I have a great deal to get done now that the first storm is over,” Lord Crowley said in a louder voice as he set a hand atop Aziraphale’s slumped shoulder. “My husband and I will visit during our next time in town.”

Device rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Yes yes, marital bliss and all that. We’ve been there before.” She waved them off with an elaborate gesture and Aziraphale, humiliated by her assumptions, watched as her husband shook his head in apology.

“We look forward to it,” Newt said as his arm wrapped around Device’s waist and pulled her close. She looked up at Newt with a smile that made his brighten even more, and, unexpectedly, he leaned down to kiss her.

Aziraphale’s jaw clenched at the sight, his lord husband’s hand atop his shoulder like ice.

“Tell me, how have you liked Nusquam so far?” Lord Crowley asked, his focus on the steering of the sleigh and its bridled reindeer out onto the empty path. He has not taken off in a breakneck pace just yet, still inside the village lines, but Aziraphale braced for it nonetheless.

Aziraphale flushed at the question, tugged his new cloak closer to him as the wind picked up. With Lord Crowley’s scarf around his neck, the cold hardly touched him.

“Very lovely. I… I feel I must visit more frequently if I am to have a better understanding and be part of their lives.”

“You’re correct, husband.” Lord Crowley opened his arm for Aziraphale to shift into after a moment of hesitation. Once he was settled close, Lord Crowley clicked his tongue and with a snap of the reins they were off.

Sometime along their return to the Nusquam estate, Lord Crowley adopted a more subdued pace that lulled Aziraphale into a light sleep as the wind gentled against his face while his lord husband’s strong arm kept him close and warm. His eyelashes were clumped with snowflakes as he blinked awake to find their sleigh at the entrance to the enshrouded path before the bend in the road which led to the Nusquam manor. The thick clouds of the overcast night sky let neither stars nor moonlight through, but Lord Crowley steered them as though he knew the way by heart.

Perhaps, after years of running this path, he did.

Too tired to flinch or pull away as a proper Caelum would, Aziraphale closed his eyes as he pictured the Devices waving them goodbye, as they smiled and leaned in to kiss one another.

“Have a nice rest?”

Aziraphale felt the rumble of his lord husband’s voice through his cheek’s resting place against that board chest. Despite it all, Aziraphale found he could say nothing as the sleigh moved ever so steadily forward through the evening snow, unwilling to part from the warmth of Lord Crowley’s embrace just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be sure to respect your fellow readers by not speculating or guessing the plot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's 25k for a mea culpa?

  
  


Compared to its villages, Nusquam’s sprawling estate terrified Aziraphale.

This was not helped by the worsening sense of dread which befell him the deeper into Nusquam’s frozen lands Lord Crowley took them as the night’s journey wore on. Freed from the canopy of snow-weighed trees, the estate’s high garden walls parted as if of their own will for Lord Crowley’s infernal sleigh but Aziraphale, unable to see past his own nose, found no relief from the darkness. As though he knew Aziraphale’s plight Lord Crowley’s arm encircled closer as he barked out a call for the reindeer to pick up speed, seemingly unaffected by the wind and snow lashing about.

“Not far now.” His lord husband’s low voice slithered from under the rushing wind to pull Aziraphale back as the reins snapped in his sure grip. Even within his new cloak and Lord Crowley’s strong embrace Aziraphale shivered, not entirely due to the bitter cold.

“How can you tell?” Aziraphale asked over howling winds as the endless dark at last gave way to pinpricks of light of which he recognised to be Nusquam’s manor. His home, a voice in his mind that sounded more like Gabriel’s than his own corrected. After the soft comfort of its villages which welcomed him so easily into their warmth, Aziraphale could do no more than grimace at the charred smudge of Nusquam manor, with its spires pierced the night sky and blotted out the white of fallen snow around it.

To think such wonderful people, in so peaceful a land, managed to build such a bleak place. Aziraphale struggled to reconcile it all even as the lord of this intimidating estate himself sat beside him.

Speaking of Lord Crowley.

His eyes flicked along Lord Crowley’s stretched out arm, leather reins wrapped to his elbow as he manoeuvered the reindeer and sleigh to a graceful stop before the manor’s high steps. For a moment Lord Crowley did not move as the snow fell softly around them. He kept Aziraphale pressed close, where the idle movement of his hand along Aziraphale’s covered arm became enough to distract from the manor as it loomed over them in silent vigil.

Almost.

“I need to unload the sleigh and put the reindeer up,” Lord Crowley said as he set the reins down. “Let me walk you inside first.”

“You do not have—”

But Lord Crowley had already made his way to Aziraphale’s side and brandished a gloved hand. Were Aziraphale permitted to expect such a gesture each time he turned to his lord husband, or would such an assumption be too forward? Still, it was there waiting and so he took it, aware his gloves failed to conceal a stubborn tremble.

With close attention paid to the ice-packed stairs Lord Crowley walked him up to the front entrance and gestured Aziraphale inside. Upon stepping into manor its soft light and warmth soothed away the aching bite of cold as though he never left. Sighing in pleasure Aziraphale tugged his gloves off his slowly revived fingers, looking around the manor’s bright space until he heard the groan of heavy doors as Lord Crowley made to shut them.

“Oh, but wait!”

Lord Crowley halted, his boots crunching thick snow underfoot as he turned to Aziraphale with a sharp brow raised, his auburn hair dusted by flecks of white. Thrown by the sight, Aziraphale gestured vaguely towards his lord husband’s person, not sure where to look.

“My satchel, might I have it?”

Lord Crowley pressed a hand over the side of his dark cloak. “I’ll carry it in with the rest of our things.”

Our things. Those words should not have made him blush so improperly.

“Ah rather, I hoped to make a cup of tea,” Aziraphale said as he tugged at the hem of his own cloak. When there came no reply, his gaze lowered to his lord husband’s boots, a safe alternative compared to those dark spectacles and the handsome face behind them. “If that is agreeable,” he finished, teeth bitten deep into his lip.

In reply Lord Crowley placed the satchel in Aziraphale’s hands, and at the weight he nearly stumbled. It was even heavier than he’d originally thought.

“Kitchen is through the dining hall and left of the hearth.” Lord Crowley gestured over Aziraphale’s shoulder as he righted himself. “Feel free to store your tea in the pantry.”

“Oh, thank—”

The door slammed shut behind Lord Crowley and rattled the manor’s entire front wall. On unsteady feet Aziraphale ran over to the windows barely in time to watch his lord husband descend the stairs and disappear into the snow-swept night.

Well then, he huffed and cast his wary eyes around the silent, eerily still manor.

Last time he stood here it was as an unmarried man, and whether true or not the entire place somehow gleamed under a different light. Overhead the chandelier cast its illumination with its thousand flames and turned the dark marble floor into starlight to walk upon. To his immediate left that long hallway which contained the side room he had donned his groom’s garment within yawned black and cold before him, called to him nonetheless. He took a step towards it and a shiver ran up his back, his eyes strained as he stared into the darkness, but moved no further.

Strange, he rubbed at his temple where a pressure had suddenly formed.

“Perhaps another time,” he murmured as he worried his cloak in hand and made for the dining hall with renewed vigour, leaving the dark hallway behind. As beautiful as the manor was with its expensive decoration and rich design, when Aziraphale looked up at the chandelier once more he remembered the Device’s stables and the post office. Each modest shoppe and home that welcomed him through its doors.

Love filled Nusquam’s villages to the brim, and there’s not a single drop to be found within his new home’s walls.

To the disappointment of his family Aziraphale was fond of kitchens and especially what people made in them. Growing up anyone needing him knew they could find him there with a book as he enjoyed his morning tea, or a late-night snack when the evening’s restoration project went on longer than usual. While not proper behaviour for anyone in the Caelum family as he’d been told throughout his life, Aziraphale had oftentimes found more comfort there. Perhaps it had been the calm presence of the household workers and their willingness to let him read at the table with a cup of tea and a pastry or two of the batch they’d baked that day.

Truthfully, it was one of the few places Aziraphale had not been considered a burden, and where his fondness for dining and reading were of the least interest to those around him. The Caelum family’s household workers cared not how he held a fork or how much he ate, just that he remained grateful; they had even enjoyed the times he read out loud to them.

It had been nice.

A knot formed in Aziraphale’s throat, heavy with homesickness as he pushed past the kitchen’s door. He rubbed his eyes at the iron-wrought chandelier’s bright glow, relieved he would not be struggling to make his tea in the dark. Settling his cloak over the back of a chair at the nondescript table in the centre Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat and his eyes widened as he took in the manor’s kitchen.

It was a unique setup, with light grey stone exposed along the walls and floor to protect against fire or spills and a massive set of double windows he was unsure served any purpose in such a cold region. Over to the far wall was an impressive stove that occupied the majority of the area, straddled by magnificently crafted cabinetry and plain wooden countertops, each with stone cutting boards weighed atop. Behind a set of narrow slatted doors was what he assumed to be a dry pantry, and upon peeking inside it looked recently stocked. To the left, underneath those windows there was an apron sink and a dish rack hung over it, where a few of the plates and cups he had used this week were drying. If he tried to reach for one, he most likely would not be able to stretch high enough.

The right wall possessed more racks and a series of hooks for aprons and produce sacks, although Aziraphale could only guess based on his frequent trips down to the Caelum house’s kitchen, where the staff had hung bags of onions or garlic on them upon return from the market. If he breathed deep enough, he caught the slight whiff of that familiar aroma wafting about in the kitchen he grew up sneaking tastes from before dinner.

It was pleasant enough, he concluded with mild reluctance as he tugged his waistcoat into place. A cosiness lived in the kitchen that to his surprise reminded him of the south and his childhood, growing up within the Caelum ancestral home’s sterile white walls.

Someone, in direct contrast to the rest of the manor, made this kitchen with a lot of care.

Aziraphale frowned as his hand touched the worn finish of the lightly stained tabletop. His fingertips caught on the grooves and the faint dusting of flour, swept off in haste. In an instant he pictured his lord husband walking about the kitchen to make their meals, stocking the pantry, scrubbing dishes. All with that customary frown on his face, his short auburn hair pushed back and dark sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms as he worked.

He tore his hand away as if burned and worried his lower lip between his teeth. What else about Lord Crowley did Aziraphale never get to see? This strange man so capable of running a manor, an entire region by himself.

All with so little to say to his own husband.

Aziraphale shook away the questions as they bubbled in his mind and forced himself to remember what he came in here for. “A kettle…” His quick glance about the quaint kitchen revealed there was indeed a kettle in the manor.

On the highest shelf in the cabinetry above the stovetop, of course.

He sighed as he went to the table and dragged a stool over. Although he was able to reach the other shelves which stored what appeared to be incredibly old ceramic decorative plates and an oddly shaped glass object, the kettle remained out of his reach. Biting his lip to prevent himself from saying a very inappropriate word, Aziraphale stretched and his fingertips caught the bottom of the shelf.

Behind him, the kitchen door slowly creaked open.

“What are you doing?”

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder to where Lord Crowley darkened the kitchen doorway.

“I was trying to reach the kettle.” He pointed up, too indignant to be embarrassed. Lord Crowley set his cloak and lantern onto the table before he strode over and stretched a long arm up to pull the kettle off its defiant shelf.

“We can leave it down,” Lord Crowley said, handing him the kettle as Aziraphale warily eyed those high cabinets once more. “Since you plan on using it so frequently.”

With a quiet, flustered ‘thank you’ Aziraphale stepped away from his lord husband’s looming figure to the sink. All the piping in this place must be new and not just the washroom with how the copper faucet brightly sparkled up at him, Aziraphale realised as he fumbled with the handles. Hot water gushed out after a brief struggle and all was quiet as he settled into the familiar ritual. Tea and the making thereof was a task Aziraphale always preferred doing himself and at least here in the manor there was no one to tell him he could not.

So far.

Lord Crowley stood behind him at the lit stove, a gloved hand checking the warmed coils before he moved back to the table covered in their belongings. With a series of quick, efficient motions Lord Crowley opened the satchel to remove the post and tea, a cursory glance over them all as he sorted each out.

Aziraphale, full kettle in hand, cleared his throat to apologise for the mess when Lord Crowley pulled out the delicate bags Aziraphale packed earlier this morning before their trip. Each one had been purchased in the south from an elderly couple’s seamstress shop within his hometown. Wholly frivolous according to his family, but he so enjoyed bringing them along on shopping trips. His breath caught at the scrutiny Lord Crowley gave them, until he hung each bag over the empty hooks on the wall near the door. Those long fingers smoothed the wrinkled fabric and soon enough the embroidered decorations - some flowers, some animals - displayed neatly.

Aziraphale’s own hands were suddenly very interesting as he set the kettle on the stove and worried them over his waistcoat’s buttons.

This was all, well.

“Which tea were you hoping to try?”

“Ah.” Aziraphale shook his thoughts away and came to the table, plucking one that caught his eye with a smile. “I was told this was a close relative to a blend I enjoyed back home - that is, in the south.”

“I’ll put these up, then. On our next visit we’ll find some proper storage,” Lord Crowley replied as he returned the others to their pouch.

_Our next visit._

It rang through Aziraphale’s head, how his lord husband said the words with such certainty. Hope threatened to bloom between his lungs before he tamped it down.

Now that the tea was put up, the kettle on the stovetop, and they were seated, however, Aziraphale found the forced calm disorienting after such a busy day. Lord Crowley sat as if content to idle in silence with Aziraphale as they waited for the kettle to boil, but for all Aziraphale knew his lord husband was simply waiting for him to prove he deserved today’s outing. Especially after the way it ended.

Swallowing thickly against the tension in his throat, Aziraphale gave it a try.

“Did, do you cook often?” Lord Crowley turned his attention from the tepid kettle to Aziraphale. A gloved hand tapped against the table, catching and scattering flour dust.

“I make your meals,” he replied, the hint of a question in his voice. Aziraphale bit his lip at the reminder.

“Pardon,” Aziraphale said as he stared down at the bare table between them. Its whirls and grooves worn from years of unknown people having sat here, just like him. “I meant, do you ever cook for company?”

“The family rarely stays for meals.” Lord Crowley’s fingers continued to tap amidst the flour. Either he knew Aziraphale had been hedging for some insight into past guests or he simply did not entertain. Did the villagers not come up here? Surely some of them have before, they must.

“Do you take your tea with milk and sugar?”

“Milk, usually,” Aziraphale answered, and turned to find his lord husband’s seat empty. Lord Crowley stood at the stove tugging a hot dish from next to it as he lifted the whistling kettle and set them both onto the counter.

How in the world—?

On his feet, although significantly slower than Lord Crowley, Aziraphale gave a weak gesture in the hopes of shooing his lord husband back to his seat.

Lord Crowley can’t do _everything_ for him.

“Please let me, really,” Aziraphale fretted and much to his relief Lord Crowley stepped away, returning shortly with a container of milk. Aziraphale forced his hands to remain steady as he made his tea, aware of his lord husband right behind his shoulder and praying he did not spill it all over himself.

“Thank you,” he whispered but Lord Crowley was back in his seat by the time he said the words having set everything away. With a hand cradling the teacup and soaking in its warmth, Aziraphale shuffled to his seat, unsure where to look as he sat back down.

“You enjoyed Nusquam.”

Aziraphale blinked at the statement, teacup held before his lips. His lord husband’s focus lay on the wall behind Aziraphale, but something told Aziraphale those amber eyes were angled right towards him. Taking a slow sip to collect himself, Aziraphale breathed a sigh of delight at the taste. Indeed, it was a near twin to his favourite brew from the south. Nusquam knew their tea, even if they hardly drank it.

“Yes, of course, yes. It is a beautiful place,” Aziraphale replied before he took another sip, glancing away from Lord Crowley’s unchanged expression, obviously waiting for Aziraphale to elaborate. “Lovely, ah, scenery and everyone was very welcoming.”

“Indeed,” said Lord Crowley as he set a hand back on the table where his fingertips tapped along in quick succession. “They are good people. We’ve been fortunate.”

That was an odd way of describing it.

“Did you acquire enough during your trip?” Aziraphale resisted the urge to squirm at the question.

“Yes, I…”

“Hm?” As the question hung in the air Lord Crowley reached into his dark overcoat and pulled his notebook out. He sharply penned a scrawl of black ink atop a blank page before stopping and Aziraphale looked away.

“I worry we did not find anything you needed, is all,” Aziraphale admitted. Lord Crowley leaned back into his chair, a frown on his face.

“I have what I need. We were there to obtain anything you require for your new life here.”

Unease weighed in Aziraphale’s stomach despite the sip of tea he took. There was a key piece of this conversation Aziraphale had missed somewhere, he was certain of it. At his silence Lord Crowley dipped his chin so that the alarming glint of his eyes peeked over his spectacles right into Aziraphale’s.

“Doubt any husband could refuse that,” he said, and at once Aziraphale understood.

Right. Their marriage revolved around this arrangement. Lord Crowley the entire day was performing his duty to their respective families, not out of any fondness for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale took a breath, unsure why it proved difficult.

“Of course, my lord,” Aziraphale’s thumb flicked the ornate handle of the teacup, blinking through the unknown burn in his eyes.

“It’s getting late,” Lord Crowley said as he gestured around the kitchen. “You can come here whenever you wish, though. There should be a stock of food that doesn’t require much preparation. If you want something more complex during the night let me know.”

Was this a dismissal? Aziraphale’s gaze dropped to follow the swirl of herbs in his tea as Lord Crowley scrawled in his notebook. Interrupting his lord husband in the middle of the night for a meal of all things like he was a household servant twisted Aziraphale’s stomach into knots. But another uncomfortable matter he had not considered before arose, one it would be imprudent to ignore for much longer.

“Forgive me for asking,” he said over the nervousness bubbled high in his throat. “Where might I find you during the night, should I - I need?”

The pen scratched harsh across the paper as Lord Crowley’s writing halted. Aziraphale winced, an apology already on his tongue. It was perhaps the closest they’ve been to acknowledging that Lord Crowley did not retire with him at night. Were it possible for his face to catch fire like the stove’s still smouldering hearth by now it would have.

Then, Lord Crowley let out a quiet breath.

“My study. Instead of taking a right from the bedroom turn left. You’ll see a winged statue near the door.”

“I, thank you,” said Aziraphale quietly. What else could be said after such a revelation, though. Another even more tense silence threatened to suffocate the slowly crafted warmth Aziraphale has worked so hard on today right out of the kitchen as Lord Crowley went back to his writing.

Rather late anyways, Aziraphale reasoned as a brittleness came over him. He would be remiss to keep his lord husband somewhere he did not want to be. Which, apparently, was with Aziraphale. His hands shook as he gathered his belongings and tea and rose onto numb legs.

“Well. Good night, then,” he hated the weakness in his voice.

Lord Crowley did not look up.

“Good night.”

Their day’s acquisitions waited for Aziraphale by the time he dragged himself through the lit hallways to his bedroom. Too tired to wonder after how Lord Crowley managed to accomplish this, Aziraphale simply hung up his overcoat and waistcoat with a soft sigh before he went over to investigate. They were neatly arranged on a low table in the centre of the bedroom, all in their original packaging for him to sort through as desired. Carefully, he lifted his other new cloak from the pile to admire the rich champagne fabric brightcast by the fireplace’s glow.

In his hands the cloak shifted and gleamed nearly the same molten colour as Lord Crowley’s eyes.

Aziraphale sighed and reluctantly set the cloak back down, bringing a hand up to rub at the pressure in his temple. Despite Lord Crowley’s unspoken insistence that Aziraphale retire for the night there was far too much on his mind. Right when he thought their situation had settled down, Aziraphale was once more caught adrift. How was he to reconcile their time together in Nusquam’s villages with tonight’s frigidity? Today’s outing and his lord husband’s ever-present attentions seemed so much like what he _hoped_ marriage would be.

Had it all been what Lord Crowley implied in the kitchen, merely an expected part of their arrangement?

The post, Aziraphale looked over to the desk and away from Lord Crowley’s gifts. He needed to distract himself with that before he wasted the entire night on these pointless worries.

Unfolding his pair of reading spectacles Aziraphale sat with fire crackling warm at his back and opened his satchel. Gently he untied the bundle of letters to spread across the desk, mindful to not intrude upon the left side. The letter addressed to Lord Crowley stood out amidst the others, deceptive in its unassuming starch white. A hesitant fingertip touched along the familiar, expensive envelope his family took immense pride in using to contain their enthusiastic lambasting of one another. On the rare occasion, even an unruly business partner as Michael took great pleasure in resorting to.

Aziraphale plucked it from the pile, and frowned.

No return name or address adorned the front of this particular envelope, however. When he flipped to the back a glaring lack of the Caelum seal greeted him.

He pursed his lips in disapproval. Quite unusual to forgo the seal given how highly the members of the Caelum family regarded themselves. Did they not consider his lord husband deserving of the formality? Had they hoped Aziraphale would not recognise this as a Caelum letter and conduct their side-lining of Aziraphale with the northern lord right under his nose?

It would be easy to find out if he simply read what was inside, he chided as his thoughts tangled around one another.

He poised the letter opener along the seam to slice through the envelope but found he could move no further. Although Lord Crowley gave permission for him to open the letter, Aziraphale was not certain he was prepared for whatever it contained from the family that so readily gave him away into this frigid, loveless marriage.

A crack of the fire as a log split made him jump.

Shaking his head, Aziraphale set the letter on his lord husband’s side of the desk and with a last glance at the starched white envelope he moved on.

The bulk of the letters from the Caelum family thankfully contained well wishes regarding his marriage and inevitably a barrage of questions about book restorations or document locations. Routine honestly, all which he would need to reach out to anyone at the ancestral home to assist with. After a polite read-through Aziraphale tucked the stack away for later, unwilling to handle any of it tonight.

As he went to the last ones in hand, he blinked at the large, halting script of Gabriel’s handwriting scrawled all over the front of one envelope.

Setting the remaining letter aside without a glance, he broke the seal and tugged a thick fold of paper from the envelope, eyebrows creeping up as he flipped through the numerous pages. Gabriel was rumoured to be wordy, but as this was his first letter outside of the occasional strongly worded message Aziraphale never expected it might be true.

With a deep breath Aziraphale leaned back in his chair as he held Gabriel’s letter up to the firelight and began to read.

_Cousin Aziraphale,_

_Greetings from the capital! It was a quick journey on that train - the south could learn a thing or two - and I am happy to report myself having arrived safely._

_Upon disembarking the station’s front desk warned me the first storm of the season would also be heading up here and I thought I’d best get a letter out to you beforehand. Your first time in your new home and a storm to start it off, how terrible! I hope you’re keeping warm in that chilly manor - that chandelier looks like it could heat an entire town, after all._

_Although the capital is a little further north than where you now reside, it is not nearly as cold. Snowy and windy, of course, but it’s much more manageable and so modern! Nusquam is decent enough I suppose but this city is an absolute feat of wonder. I have never taken so many notes and talked with so many unique minds, each more knowledgeable than the last and just as curious to know about the south, even._

_I know you prefer your books and all that nonsense but if you ever have the chance I’m sure you’d enjoy a visit up. Might change your life._

_If only you had married a lord up here, right? Please don’t tell your husband I said that._

_Speaking of your husband, talk about the unexpected! What was with all the candles at the ceremony, anyways? I had hoped to share this with you after the wedding but the Inferius were not too subtle in their wishes to leave and have us do the same. Regardless, I did have the chance to speak with Lord Crowley briefly while you were off somewhere else after the ceremony._

Aziraphale nearly fell from his chair.

Gabriel spoke alone with Lord Crowley, why had he not known this? He stumbled across the dark rugs and started a nervous pacing as a sense of dread built the further down he read Gabriel’s letter.

_What an enlightening conversation we had. Before I might even begin he apologised for his family’s behaviour and expressed his regret in how they handled everything, which I greatly appreciated. He certainly knows how to conduct himself. I put this to the test and asked him every question about these lands I could conjure up in a short amount of time and concluded him to be remarkably well-versed in his lordship of Nusquam, if a borderline acerbic individual. But, given what I’ve seen so far, I imagine that’s just how these Inferius are._

_Either way, he was reasonably polite. Kept a close eye on you as the conversation went on, which in lieu of offence I took this to be a sign he carried the responsibility of marrying you with at least some amount of gravity, possibly more._

_In terms of your marriage to him, I know it’s very early but does this seem to be true?_

Aziraphale skipped over the question to dodge the relatively difficult matter of determining whether his lord husband viewed their marriage as more than a responsibility. He ended up in a worse position upon sight of Gabriel’s next remarks as they screamed up at him with the subtlety of a roaring passenger train.

_Also, if I may be so bold as to ask, how are things?_

Aziraphale blushed.

In all his overbearing inquisitiveness, Gabriel wanted to know if _marital bliss_ was going well.

After learning little more than an hour ago Lord Crowley preferred his personal study to their bedroom Aziraphale found himself at a loss for words. Finding he did not want to even think about the painful implications Aziraphale shuffled the letter to the next page and forced aside the notion of bliss or anything otherwise.

_With all that in consideration I’m sure you can forgive your cousin for being concerned about the entire situation and that, when presented with the perfect opportunity, I took the time to ask him some more probing questions. We’re family after all, and as you are my cousin now so is he._

Oh, great. Aziraphale took a breath and braced himself.

_I began with a summarisation of our family’s history and general way of operating to which he listened with feigned interest. After years of dealing with people I was not overly surprised by this but appreciated the effort. However, I know I had his attention when I told him the matriarch’s vanishing years ago led us to doubt the veracity of the letters at first. Apparently the Inferius did not know she was not in contact with anyone else and he said as much. I explained to him that given these circumstances, with the matriarch’s approval or not, we found them downright unorthodox and I went so far as to say that I personally had reservations about marrying you off to some foreign lord we only learned about a week beforehand._

_Lord Crowley did not say anything for a while, standing there and watching you with a strange expression on his face. Eventually he conceded it was understandable, then asked me if you were not up to the task. I said you most certainly were, but it was not right to have you stumbling through the dark, so to speak._

_To this, he said the most unusual thing to me, and I quote:_

_‘If my husband wishes to know something I’ll be forthcoming and more than willing to guide him. All I expect is before his curiosity leads him down a particular path of questioning that he’s prepared for the answer.’_

Shivers wracked through Aziraphale. Compelled by an unknown force his eyes tore from the letter to glance towards the corners of the room where the light failed to reach. Shadow, controlled by the fire’s movement, shifted and contracted under his scrutiny, but little more.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Aziraphale laughed to himself, but the sound rang nervous and brittle through the dark bedroom. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his reading spectacles, squinting at Gabriel’s words as the fire waned and dimmed before he shook off the slow creep of worry and moved on.

As though hesitant, the firelight returned to its full glow and the letter illuminated once more, so he read on.

_I won’t lie to you, it gave me chills! Who says things like that? Maybe it was a joke and if so, he really needs to work on his delivery. Strange northern people… I do love the clothes though; you’ll never guess what I managed to find here._

At this point Aziraphale understood why there were so many pages to this letter. By the time Gabriel got through a story where a tailor argued him out of the establishment over measurements on a tie of all things he was cross-eyed over the whole matter. Nusquam already sounded like a far more courteous place to be if Gabriel’s southern mannerisms were rejected by the other parts of the region so adamantly, yet Gabriel insisted the capital to be a superior location.

Aziraphale, after the second winding story, huffed and flipped through the pages to where he hoped Gabriel circled back to the pressing topic at hand.

_So, like with that fourth tailor, it would have been incredibly rude to demand elaboration but I’m dying to know what he meant. Lord Crowley did not react when I told him we aren’t the most curious of families, having preferred our traditions and comforts for centuries and that you certainly would not mean any disrespect in any of your future behaviour._

_Whether that helped I’m not sure, but he emphasised again there was nothing you could ask him or of him that he would withhold from you. Reasonable enough! After this the conversation simmered into more neutral-grounded topics. He even asked a question or two of me, which was interesting indeed._

Desperate curiosity mixed with frustration burned through Aziraphale’s chest. A hand rubbed at his aching temple, unable to comprehend how Gabriel spent _pages_ talking about his tailoring and not once thought to include what Lord Crowley asked him.

_Anyways, although it is not the most gracious of declarations to be had from a lord and comes extremely late, I hope this eased some of the reservations I know you have. I cannot imagine how upending this entire experience has been for you but take faith in the matriarch’s decisions and believe that you would not have been chosen by her if there was not a valid reason._

_I’ll close this letter with the promise to write again as soon as I am able. The storm will soon be up here, and I will be out of contact for quite some time so do not fret if you do not hear anything back immediately. Until then should you need anything Uriel will be staying in Nusquam and I am a letter - or a telegram if Nusquam ever enters this century - away._

_Blessings upon your marriage Aziraphale, truly, and I endeavour you to do our family proud._

_Regards,_

_Gabriel_

Upon the letter’s end, Aziraphale fared little more than a sigh.

A far likelier scenario than the one written down was that Gabriel pinned his lord husband in some dark corner of the manor and barraged him with questions until he had no choice but to answer. Undoubtedly, they walked away with Gabriel congratulating himself on a job well done and Lord Crowley freed of all affection towards the Caelum family if he possessed any before.

In a more humorous light Aziraphale could picture his lord husband’s barely suppressed scowl as Gabriel droned on, far too risky to consider stopping. For a lord hoping to maintain some form of peace in his own home on his wedding day, the cost of doing so might have been too high.

Lord Crowley withholding Nusquam’s telegraphic capabilities from Gabriel had not been meant to insult at all, then, Aziraphale considered from their visit to the post office. A bit of aggravated mischief towards the head of the Caelum family rather than derisiveness as Aziraphale feared. Gabriel’s reaction when he received his first telegraph from Aziraphale here in Nusquam would indeed be a sight to behold, and he stifled a laugh behind his hand.

Goodness, no wonder Lord Crowley did so.

Yet in the quiet bedroom Aziraphale’s humour faded and gratitude soon bloomed in its place. Without being asked Gabriel took the initiative to approach his lord husband when Aziraphale found himself unable to even consider it. So far, his own questions for Lord Crowley ranged from reactionary to merely frustrating in the lack of information they gleaned. The latest of these came dangerously close to confronting the topic of their separate sleeping arrangements, among other things, and left Aziraphale little more than uncomfortable with his standing in the lord’s eyes.

_If my husband wishes to know something I’ll be forthcoming and more than willing to guide him._

Aziraphale knew nothing of how to be a married man, a lord’s husband. Presented with an endless array of options to choose from in learning about his lord husband Aziraphale found himself paralysed, not liberated.

What if, Heaven forbid, Aziraphale asked the _wrong_ question?

Aziraphale forced himself to end this train of thoughts by taking heart in Gabriel’s message. His cousin had stepped in for him with Lord Crowley, a complete unknown to the Caelum family, and put his own reputation on the line on top of it so as to find out more about the life Aziraphale was signed over to. The marriage he was now a part of.

The entire situation was…

There was something profound in those actions that not even Gabriel saw.

Aziraphale went back to the desk and folded the letter back into its envelope, a fond smile on his face. Out of all the letters Aziraphale decided he would respond to Gabriel’s first. With one last touch of his fingers to the letter, he went to the lone one remaining in the centre of the desk.

The last letter, he noted upon slicing the envelope open, was from Uriel. Its terse, clipped handwriting revealed someone with very little to say to him, and possessed no problem enlightening him of this matter.

With great care Aziraphale unfolded the letter.

_Aziraphale,_

_I have taken up residence in one of the villages furthest from the manor to grant you a sense of privacy as you navigate the complexities of your marital obligations. Alongside this, I assume you are also making an effort to familiarise yourself with the required task of becoming a figure to the people of Nusquam._

_As there remains several well-founded doubts among the majority of the Caelum family on your capacity to handle the matriarch’s expectations, do find a moment in your busy schedule to set aside for a meeting._

_I will come by one month after the end of the first storm._

_This generous allowance should afford you enough opportunity to have learned how to conduct yourself as befitting a Caelum married to a northern lord on behalf of the matriarch and our reputation._

_Uriel_

Whatever hope Gabriel had managed to cultivate Uriel's letter smothered in a fraction of the wording. Aziraphale dropped into his long-neglected chair and dropped the letter into his lap as he stared unseeingly out across the orange-cast of his suffocating bedroom. Tension twisted up his throat, left him gasping for air as he clawed at his cravat and yanked it off to provide some meagre relief. His heart pounded hard enough to bruise as his mind swam with panic, dread compressing into the narrow focus of one terrible truth.

Uriel would be here in a month.

“Goodness,” Aziraphale choked on the word, hand gripped over his heart as he tried to steady himself against the desk. His world dropped out from under him until he took a desperate gasp and it reoriented as those awful thoughts reasserted in full force.

His arranged, stilted life within these walls rend bare and picked apart for Uriel to report back to his family on with whatever he might be failing to do, to be. Lord Crowley with that unforgiving, impassive expression he so easily wore would bear witness to the humiliating show Aziraphale’s family made him the lead of. At last able to see how fraudulent Aziraphale was, pretending himself capable of this marriage no matter the insistence of Gabriel or even the matriarch’s command.

“Stop it,” his voice broke as the familiar wetness of tears slipped down his cheeks and shame burned in his throat, despite no one around to witness. “Just stop it for once.”

Aziraphale dug the heel of a shaky hand into one of his burning eyes and each shuddering breath he took made him angrier at himself. Damp, trembling fingers folded the letter and he cast it atop the desk, unable to look at any of them a moment longer.

He did not know which was worse. That Gabriel expected more than he was capable of achieving, or that Uriel and the others already knew this and would never let him forget it.

“Something wrong?” Lord Crowley asked on the third sigh Aziraphale gave without realising how obvious it was. Breakfast had been a quiet affair so far, with his lord husband content to alternate between his usual drink and his ever-present notebook while Aziraphale struggled through his own meal. Sleep, restless and unsatisfying, had come eventually to Aziraphale last night but his waking hours remained fogged as a countdown ticked in the back of his mind.

“Apologies,” he replied, and bit into his tongue as his jaw trembled. He did not lift his gaze as he sliced into a piece of… he did not know, actually. Delicious no doubt, if he could concentrate on it long enough as he brought the forkful to his mouth and tasted nothing. Outside, the wind batter filled the silence between them for longer than Aziraphale’s manners should have allowed.

Taking an unsteady breath Aziraphale looked over at his lord husband where those dark spectacles waited. Always looking first, it seemed.

“My cousin, they, ah, plan to come visit us next month,” Aziraphale said, and somehow hearing the words spoken out loud formally sealed his fate.

Lord Crowley frowned, cup paused halfway on its journey to his mouth. “When did they say this?”

“In a letter.” Aziraphale winced as he picked at his dish. How terribly rude of him to behave like this in front of a lord, his own _husband._ “From our visit yesterday. The post, that is.”

Goodness.

There was a tap of a pen against the table, slower than usual. Aziraphale risked another glance up to see a thoughtful expression on Lord Crowley’s face, obscured by those dark spectacles.

“You’re comfortable with that?”

Aziraphale cringed at the high-pitched noise his fork made as it scraped against the plate.

“Pardon?”

“Are you comfortable with that,” Lord Crowley repeated, setting both cup and pen down to fold his arms, the dark fabric over his chest pulling roughly. “I can tell them we’re too busy to entertain guests.”

Aziraphale stared. Lord Crowley stared back.

“Oh, but that would be lying,” he said, wringing his napkin in hand to distract from how tempting the offer was. If Aziraphale said yes this would be the second time in as many days where he begged off of his duties as a lord’s husband and that simply would not do. “They are family, after all. Making time for them is always necessary.”

Lord Crowley’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

Aziraphale went back to his breakfast with a forced enthusiasm, bringing another piece to his mouth and he once again tasted nothing. He forced a smile which, as usual, Lord Crowley did not return.

“I’m sure it will be - just lovely.”

Aziraphale hummed an old southern tune as he put a pair of delicate white gloves on, intent to move past the awkward start to his day. While he has made tremendous strides in the elimination of dust, the majority of progress came from his own absence. Each day he found the library cleaner, although the possibility of Lord Crowley dusting while Aziraphale slept was the most disconcerting idea he has had thus far.

“Let’s see what progress we can make today,” he murmured to force away mental images of Lord Crowley with his dark shirtsleeves rolled up and sweeping off shelves.

The now gleaming desk Aziraphale proclaimed his new workspace has all the necessary covers in place, with a translucent cheesecloth draped atop the latest restored book. Beside it and in a sorry state was the next stack of books on his list to work some miracles. Much to his dismay the spine on what supposedly was an old horticulture book has nearly deteriorated into dust, which proved unfortunately when he took off the shelf and the entire contents slipped out leaving the empty cover in his grip.

And that covered only the _physical_ condition of the books.

During his time uncovering the contents of the library Aziraphale struggled in placing titles to any of these books. Some he chided for offering mere smudges of what appeared to be the long since eroded lines of a name, and others arose within their brittle pages after it was much more carefully brought down from a shelf.

After sorting through the selection on his desk, nothing recognisable spoke to him on any of the books’ pages despite his best efforts. Based on a few numbers he successfully translated, the contents of most chosen for restoration ranged from farming procedures to weather logs of places much warmer than Nusquam. To his increasing confusion some dated back centuries ago and beyond to times Aziraphale read about in the most obscure of books. A majority contained information he deemed downright irrelevant to Nusquam but written in the language of this land as he recalled from the signs and menus of the villages.

None of it made sense.

Eventually as the days wore on he uncovered newer books with titles in place related to the caretaking of reindeer and drier topics such as taxation laws for the region, far more relevant to Nusquam. To his immense relief, some possessed text in the common language Aziraphale understood, and as he thumbed through them to catch interesting bits of cultural information, his mood improved.

Closer to the Nusquam he currently knew, little as that was.

For any collector worth their kit an archive such as Nusquam’s was a dream to peruse, but even when written in a language he could read as Aziraphale pulled book after book from the shelves he became more certain there was far too much about this land for him to learn.

Still, he must try. Restoring what he could will have to be his contribution to Nusquam if Lord Crowley had little else use for his company.

“None of that now,” Aziraphale murmured, running a hand through his hair to scatter his thoughts like dust. He turned back to his desk’s array of items. The book he chose for today’s work was in fact not a book at all, rather a journal. To Aziraphale’s eye its cover was leather, cracked and worn from neglect, and offhand he dated it to be from around the thirteenth century but he’s been wrong before.

He turned it carefully in hand, the worn leather almost black despite the candles lit around him, and he let his thumb trace over the unusual, saddle-stitched binding.

How could Nusquam possess something so _old_ , and whose was this?

Aziraphale reached across the desk for his papers and ran a finger through the rough inventory list made for the books he planned on restoring, hoping to identify where this one fit on the countless shelves. Based on his jumbled notes he found it stuffed among some random, worn out books and other journal-like items, all of which did not hint to this particular journal’s origin. He frowned, and looked closer at the journal as uncertainty crept into the back of his mind.

As a book-restorer with no small sense of pride in their craft Aziraphale refrained from casually reading his more delicate projects, however this one was peculiar in ways he did not understand. There must be a reason the Nusquam estate had some old journal laying around, and Aziraphale knew better than to ask his lord husband given his well-known aversion to reading.

With a sigh he adjusted his white gloves once more and opened the journal. Taking a gentle breath he blew away a layer of dust and found himself greeted by rows and rows of archaic, faded handwriting.

“What are you doing here?”

Aziraphale whipped around in his chair to see a woman in the library’s doorway. A dark cloak hung off her thin frame to scatter snow across the floor as she shook it out. Even more curious was the shock of auburn hair, so similar to Lord Crowley’s, tied back in a severe plait as the library’s firelight caught along her stern face where silver-pale eyes snuffed the warmth from him.

“Ah, hello there.” He tried to smile as he set aside the journal and stood, tugging his white gloves off as he went.

“How can I—”

“I asked what you’re doing here,” she snapped and crossed her arms, a scuffed boot tapping against the stone floors. “No one except the Inferius are allowed in this part of the manor.”

Aziraphale discreetly glanced over the woman’s shoulder to the library’s wide-open doorway.

“His lordship said it was all right for me to be here.” He winced as her expression hardened, and on unsteady feet he stepped back closer to the desk with a hand touched to its smooth surface for his own comfort.

“He said that? Don’t think so.” The woman’s eyes narrowed as they swept over Aziraphale, who resisted squirming under the scrutiny. There must be a misunderstanding. Lord Crowley would not have deceived him, not about something so small, that brought Aziraphale such joy. Doubt dropped into his stomach as a cold weight as the woman pursed her lips, cast her glare over him before it landed somewhere on the desk. He shifted, fingers tapping out a nervous beat.

If she were willing to wait he might fetch for Lord Crowley and explain the entire matter to him, but maybe she was right, and he actually wasn’t allowed in here—

The snap of her fingers startled his attention back.

“Wait. You’re the husband, now I remember. Very well. If he says it’s fine I’ve no objections.” She stomped further into the library, her snow-covered clothing trailed melting streaks along the stone and rugs to chase Aziraphale’s confusion away with horror.

“I’m Dagon, I missed your wedding but you’ll see me come by every so often. I keep Nusquam’s files stored here so don’t ruin anything.” A bare hand shot out and Aziraphale nearly toppled over as he recoiled.

“Ah, well. Excuse me, but—”

“What? Go on,” she demanded, waving her sharp-nailed hand in front of him as he searched for an escape, his own hands clasped to his chest.

“I,” Aziraphale swallowed, his throat closed as his skin pricked with fear. A harsh laugh cut through the tense air between them and Dagon stepped closer.

“Are all of you Caelum really like this? C’mon, I thought they were pulling my leg.”

“Dagon, don’t bother him.”

_Oh, thank goodness._

Aziraphale nearly collapsed with relief at his lord husband’s voice. As one they turned to see Lord Crowley near the hearth, shadow and firelight cast over him in harsh slices. Before proper etiquette might restrain Aziraphale he was over at Lord Crowley’s side and without a word his lord husband placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I wasn’t,” Dagon said as she dropped her hand, an intense scowl on her face.

“Next time use the front door. Or send a letter.” Lord Crowley’s voice was low, sharper than usual. “Did you come here for anything specific?”

Dagon’s moon-grey eyes flicked over to Aziraphale, who struggled to suppress a flinch, before they shifted once more to Lord Crowley. “There’s a need for some of our financial records, notably the ones about land ownership and taxes paid to the capital,” she said in a clipped tone.

“How far back?” Lord Crowley asked.

“Far enough. The fact it’s asked after should be enough for you to cooperate.” Aziraphale frowned, entirely put off by her behaviour so far but Lord Crowley’s expression had taken on what might be called unsettled. His broad hand stroked a gentle, idle line on the curve of Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Would you be willing to assist Dagon?”

Aziraphale blinked, his reflection in the dark spectacles mercilessly showcased the confusion on his face. Off to the side Dagon groaned.

“Oh, come _on_.”

“It’s almost lunch time and I’ll not have you delaying us,” Lord Crowley interrupted with the slightest edge, not acknowledging the forceful slam of her boot against a bookcase’s sturdy base. When the assault released another scatter of dust a prominent scowl etched itself into Lord Crowley's face.

“You forget whose manor this is.”

Dagon grumbled something Aziraphale assumed to be entirely uncouth as she shrugged her cloak off and threw it over the back of the plush chair his lord husband used whenever he visited the library, a fact that sent Aziraphale’s chest hot with protest.

“Fine Crowley, you win. But we have to talk before I leave,” Dagon said in a huff and gestured for Aziraphale before she slipped behind the bookcases without waiting.

Well, it was better than subjection to an offered hand again. He stepped forward, but as Lord Crowley’s hand fell away from him a cold he detested returned. Turning back, he saw his lord husband nod for him to follow Dagon.

“I’ll wait here if you wish,” said Lord Crowley, arms folded in front of his chest. Unable to speak as a flush rose, Aziraphale took off after where Dagon had disappeared to between the towering bookcases with an unfamiliar measure of haste in his step.

“What sort of records are you looking for?” Aziraphale asked when he caught up with her in some dark corner of the library Aziraphale had not taken the time to uncover. Now was perhaps the ideal time to learn what was back here, hidden away. He brushed another thick cobweb from view. Dagon sneered as her quick hands flit across the files and papers crammed into bookshelves coated with all sorts of dust and debris. Pale, gleaming eyes darted over the titles she pulled out some only to shake her head and shove them into a different place on the shelf.

Aziraphale cringed at the loud crunch of paper, the heavy thump of cast aside books. The elder shopkeeper mentioned there was an Inferius family member who thrived on taking care of Nusquam’s paperwork and records, yet Aziraphale refused to connect so respectable a description with the person in front of him, scowling and tearing at the shelves.

She worked as if she hated the very concept of paper. Aziraphale tugged nervously at his waistcoat’s hem as she continued to upend each item she pulled out.

“Ah, did you—”

“Weren’t you listening?” Dagon yanked another one down and did not even read it before she threw it atop a series of other papers and thick portfolios. Unable to withstand the disorder any longer Aziraphale took the abandoned items and set them into a place he assumed close to their original spot, or one not likely to do further damage. During the next storm he might organise this part of the library if he found himself with little to do. Especially if this is the usual handling they received, he added with a critical eye to Dagon.

“Said I need the family’s financial records and land ownership proofs.” Dagon went deeper into the aisle and looked between both cases before she crouched and pulled wooden crates from the bottom shelves where Aziraphale had not known something rested, so dark it was back here.

“Every so often someone gets themselves wrapped around the axle and demands to know how this place runs so well. Next time I’m going to tell them it’s the power of imagination because digging around here is not worth the effort.”

“Perhaps,” he made a vague gesture around them to the towering bookshelves, “they are simply curious?”

Dagon ignored him, in quick motions her hands slid around the cover of the worn crate to brush a coating of dust from a brass label before she glared up at Aziraphale, who stepped back with an apology on the tip of his tongue. Without a word she pried the crate open and a cloud of dust kicked up into both their faces.

“Sorry,” she said without a drop of sincerity over Aziraphale’s coughing fit, a hand waved about to clear the dust from her view. “Anyways, I got hailed by the family to get ahead of their sniffing around before it becomes a problem.”

Aziraphale pulled his handkerchief away from his rubbed raw nose, eyes watering as he gasped for breath.

“Why would it be a problem, if I may ask?” Considering all of Nusquam was infatuated with the family, these mysterious Inferius, Aziraphale was lost on what the actual concern was. Did they even know how the Inferius family had swept their way through the Caelum home like a shadow, ready to steal Aziraphale away for this marriage without so much as a word? The illegible stack of legalese they drowned Gabriel in during that terrible week before he showed up at Nusquam’s borders for some arrangement beyond his understanding?

Probably not, given they looked at Lord Crowley as he walked through the village with such awe, Aziraphale added with a touch of censure as he watched Dagon continue her onslaught.

They behaved like their lord built them paradise itself, tolerating some random southerner as his husband must be a small price for all that.

“Did I say problem?” Dagon interrupted his thoughts as she hauled the crate up without so much as a huff and moved past Aziraphale who barely managed to dodge her in time. “It’s mostly an annoyance. Anyways the sooner I get this done the sooner I can go back to enjoying my life.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied, and with a last, reluctant glance around the dark bookcases he trailed after the Inferius.

Eventually, just before the end of this dreary section of the library, Dagon spun around and levelled him with a frightful stare. A highly improper yelp threatened the seal of his mouth before he stumbled back, clutching at his waistcoat’s lapels.

“Are you?”

He blinked. She did not blink back. “Pardon me?”

“Are you,” Dagon grimaced and shifted the crate around to her hip. “Enjoying your life here?”

Caelum upbringing compelled the word ‘yes’ to always be the tip of his tongue with little regard for anything else he might feel. Ready to be spoken and force Aziraphale to live it out whether or not the statement was true, as he has done his entire life.

And so.

“Yes, I am quite happy,” he said as a smile stretched his face. “Thank you for asking.”

Dagon turned away and the lash of her plait missed whipping him in the face by a narrow margin. “Don’t bother. You barely helped me find the papers.”

“Oh, forgive me, please. Here, how about I carry something?” Aziraphale stepped forward when Dagon groaned and held the crate away from his reaching hands as they came back into the main section of the library. Unsurprisingly, Lord Crowley tended to the fire in their absence based on how it roared brightly behind the hearth gate Aziraphale still could not seem to move. Not that he tried recently, of course, except he had earlier this morning but there was no inclination to admit this to anyone present.

“Find everything?” Lord Crowley asked, arms folded in front of his near-black oxblood waistcoat where its rich fabric blended into the rest of his dark, midnight coloured outfit. Its deep red that contrasted with his sharp pale features, now that Aziraphale had a chance to look at him, suited his lord husband quite well. As was the impossibly close tailoring that highlighted the strong, whipcord lines of Lord Crowley’s tall figure, should one be so improper to notice such aspects of the lord. He brought the carefully folded handkerchief over his mouth to smother his flush with a polite cough.

“Still in the same place it was like last time and the time before that,” said Dagon as she shifted the crate in hand, rolled her neck to force a pop to Aziraphale’s silent offence. “Shows how often you mess about here.”

Lord Crowley dipped his chin. “I’m in here more often now that there’s a reason.”

Neither Inferius faced Aziraphale, but they might as well have. He smoothed the front of his dusty waistcoat in hopes of settling his nerves along with the action.

“Ugh,” Dagon jerked her chin at the library doors. “Get those open. I have places to be, namely away from you.”

Caelum propriety struck once again as Aziraphale shook the remaining dust from his trousers and waistcoat before he straightened up to look at Dagon. “Oh, but won’t you stay for lunch?” He asked in a tone he hoped sounded courteous if not familial.

“You did mention having to speak with me,” Lord Crowley added much to Aziraphale’s relief and Dagon’s face for the first time today softened in thought. She turned to Aziraphale as he stood there fighting the urge to squirm under her unblinking stare, feeling somewhat judged on a criteria he did not understand.

“Sure, I’ll stay.”

It was unusual to hear Lord Crowley speak so much during a meal.

At all, really.

From the way this first week of marriage had passed Lord Crowley started their interactions off by asking Aziraphale a question about some interest or aspect of his life no one ever asked him before. Flustered beyond belief, he would reply and by the time he knew it most of the meal passed from his ramblings. His lord husband, having not said a word would have spent the entire time listening, chin propped atop his entwined hands as he watched Aziraphale with an inscrutable expression.

Now, it was a curious sight to behold both Inferius engage one another in what appeared a battle of wills. Dagon had seated herself across from Aziraphale where she immediately homed in on Lord Crowley the moment he settled at the head of the table after having served their meal.

Lord Crowley replied in his low, clipped way and they were off.

They conversed rapidly about the record-keeping of Nusquam, which led into granular, esoteric aspects about Nusquam Aziraphale found both interesting and at times overwhelming. Instead of trying to keep up, Aziraphale sat with an unusual contentment as he listened to them both.

There was something in the way his lord husband interacted with his own family, Aziraphale noticed between careful bites of his meal. No matter the topic, before its end his focus returned to Aziraphale as if to see whether he wanted to speak.

It was…

Aziraphale cut into what appeared to be a soft dumpling surrounded by a variety of vegetables in a dark gravy to swallow his thoughts with the savoury dough, humming in pleasure at the seasoned potato and flavourful meat. Across from him Dagon quipped in the local language, to which Lord Crowley responded in the common language as he glanced at Aziraphale briefly, before continuing on as if he’d never stopped.

That did several odd things to Aziraphale’s already sensitive stomach. He ate another piece of the dumpling when Dagon’s sharp retort interrupted Lord Crowley’s suggestion for another water mill on the eastern side. The slam of her palm against the table made Aziraphale frown while Lord Crowley merely looked amused.

Despite the harsh way they spoke to one another, a clear familial affection lived underneath their rough communication. It was evident by the thoughtful expression Dagon wore when Lord Crowley explained himself, and in the patience his lord husband showed as Dagon gave a winding, open-ended reply. The Caelum family in turn has locked themselves into such a rigidity Aziraphale was continuously amazed no one in the family unleashed a lifetime of vitriol during a conversation yet. To imagine Dagon and his lord husband talking like this at a Caelum family meal, Aziraphale smothered an improper chuckle with a dab of his napkin. He almost wanted it to happen so he might witness the shock on each of his relative’s faces.

As he recovered Lord Crowley spoke on the western villages’ lack of export this year until the words faded and Aziraphale’s world narrowed to how the soft glow of the room played across Lord Crowley’s features. Impossibly handsome and burnished they were in sharp contrast to the pitch black of his clothing. When he nodded along to Dagon’s reply, Aziraphale breath caught as the movement set Lord Crowley’s auburn hair alight in the fire’s glow.

“And what does your husband think of it?” Aziraphale briefly wondered who Dagon referred to, when he realised based on their staring that she meant him.

Ah. He set his napkin down, having been suspended near his mouth for a while. 

“Forgive me, might you repeat…?”

Lord Crowley leaned forward, his hands neatly threaded together atop the table.

“Nusquam. Should the villages be combined into one?”

“Oh, well,” he stammered through the flush in his face. What a question, one he knew nothing about. Exactly what he needed for a first meeting. Aziraphale squirmed under their open curiosity, hands wringing the thick napkin as he clamoured for an idea.

“Well?” Dagon pressed as she propped her chin on one hand and stared unblinkingly at him. The gleam in her eye chilled the comfortable warmth of his meal within Aziraphale’s stomach. Lord Crowley turned to Dagon and she scowled at whatever expression he made. The moment he looked away Dagon rolled her eyes, and Aziraphale flustered at the rudeness on behalf of his lord husband.

“It’s an old discussion, but we’re due for it I suppose,” Lord Crowley mercifully offered as Aziraphale’s silence went on, his low voice a warm cloak upon Aziraphale’s tense shoulders. “The situation is certain villages do not ‘carry their weight’ so to speak. They have to be assisted by our family to reopen negotiations or trade with other regions nearby when they fall behind. We’re not large exporters to begin with but there are goods we cannot produce.”

“Some in the family,” he gave a vague gesture which may or may not have been towards Dagon, “believe penalising them would resolve this matter. For what, I’ve yet to hear an actual reason.”

“Wait a second,” Dagon sneered. Lord Crowley waved her off. Aziraphale glanced between them both, trying to understand any of what his lord husband said. For the first time in his life Aziraphale admitted this would be a time to have Michael around.

“Oh, I don’t think I should—”

“There’s no wrong answer,” Dagon relentlessly interrupted, ignoring the low hiss Aziraphale swore came from his lord husband. “Just started talking about it again recently. No solution in sight, if it even needs one. We love to argue about it, though.”

Lord Crowley’s mouth ticked downwards, but he did not disagree.

“I, I well. Each village, if they know another is in trouble they might,” Aziraphale said, a blush already high on his face but neither spoke. “Is there a way to have the others assist when such things happen? Sort of, balance one another out?”

Dagon, still propped on her hand, angled towards Lord Crowley. “Something like a ‘if we cannot export this amount in time, would this other export from another village suffice’?”

Lord Crowley leaned back; arms folded once more as they dropped with his slow breath. “Not all we export is interchangeable. We’ve managed to avoid resentment between all nine for this long. I’m uncertain how that idea would help.”

“Well,” now Aziraphale understood. Somewhat. “What if instead of the villages operating independently, everything came through the Nusquam name?”

Both looked at him.

“I, I mean, it would present a unified front. If you’re already having to negotiate, you can do so on behalf of all of Nusquam instead of waiting until these situations happen. The people,” Aziraphale cleared his throat to control the nervous tremor about to spill into his voice. “The people live in separate villages, but they all view themselves as part of Nusquam. It’s in how they speak, and, and they trust you.”

Nothing he said came at all close to the mark. It was brutally clear in how Dagon glanced at Lord Crowley with a pale brow raised. Heart pounding, Aziraphale braced himself for the ridicule of a lifetime.

“I think,” Lord Crowley said, each slow syllable a dagger in Aziraphale’s painfully tight chest. “That you bring up a valid point. The people view Nusquam as one in these matters whether it’s on paper. We might ask for their input instead of discussing without them.”

“We could bring this to their attention.” Dagon pushed off her hand, a closed-lipped smile plastered to her mouth. “I’ll see if we can have a meeting in the villages’ main hall sometime next month.”

“Do remind me of this before you leave,” Lord Crowley said as Dagon stretched her arms overhead in what would be considered a complete breach of Caelum table etiquette. Aziraphale nearly collapsed in his chair as the conversation moved on from him.

Survival of his opinion being requested for the first time accomplished.

“I’ll probably forget by then since I plan on staying a while. The weather outside is delightful, might go for a walk around the grounds.” Having seen the heavy snowfall outside earlier this morning Aziraphale did not understand what Dagon was talking about. At his left Lord Crowley straightened and leaned towards Aziraphale as those dark spectacles flashed in the firelight.

“Would you like to tour the garden?” Aziraphale reluctantly looked away from his lord husband to the windows where the curtains were still drawn.

“Ah, of course. But, well, isn’t there snow covering most of it still?” Does the snow even melt long enough for the tall garden walls to be revealed? Aziraphale picked at his food once more and before he was asked anything further he speared a dumpling to pop into his mouth.

Mercifully no other questions were directed at him, though, so he continued to eat as Dagon stopped to stare at Lord Crowley.

“You haven’t cleared it away?” Dagon asked, eyebrows raised high. Lord Crowley sighed and stood, his tall figure splitting the firelight to cast Dagon and Aziraphale in his shadow.

“I’ve been otherwise occupied,” he replied in a short tone and left for what Aziraphale assumed to be their cloaks. Outside of Lord Crowley’s notice Dagon’s eyes slid to Aziraphale and he did not like the look she gave him at all. He swallowed thickly around the still perfectly warm dumpling he had just bitten into as a wide grin cut its path along her face.

“Bet you have.”

“Apologies, I know that was not very helpful,” Aziraphale immediately said as Lord Crowley returned with their cloaks and removed the plates over Aziraphale’s ignored protests. Dagon had stepped out not long ago claiming to need some fresh air before leaving Aziraphale alone in the dining hall to contemplate the whole uncomfortable situation of marital bliss.

First Gabriel, now the Inferius. Aziraphale wrung his hands together, not certain he wanted to know how many others thought this way.

Especially the one right next to him.

“You did remarkably well for the suddenness of the topic,” said Lord Crowley as he proffered his arm, the one not weighed down by Aziraphale’s cloak. In response Aziraphale slipped his hand into the crook, the routine touch at once surreal and relieving. To know his miserable attempt as a lord’s husband did not bar him from the rest of his marriage.

So far as he knew.

“Dagon meant well. She’ll never admit it, but she didn't ask in the hopes to embarrass you. You’re not expected to handle such matters anyways.” Lord Crowley concluded as they reached the front doors of the manor. With a careful motion he peeled Aziraphale from his arm to drape the pale blue cloak over his shoulders, which drooped from the heavy fabric and his lord husband’s words. Uriel’s visit would be a new record in brutality if Lord Crowley already viewed him this way.

Next to him Lord Crowley muttered what sounded like a curse under his breath and pinched the bridge of his long nose.

“Expected is the wrong word. I meant you can involve yourself as little or as much as you see fit in Nusquam’s matters.” A shift of gleaming black filled Aziraphale’s view as Lord Crowley moved closer. “If there’s any expectation, it’s that the people of Nusquam respect you and abide by your wishes.”

Aziraphale’s neck cracked as he swivelled to face Lord Crowley, the conversation pivot enough to give him whiplash.

“Oh, that’s, that’s quite a lot of responsibility. I don’t want to order people about,” Aziraphale said, preferring the opposite. Lord Crowley let out what might have been the ghost of a foreign word as a broad hand pushed the heavy manor doors open.

“Commendable of you. Most people enjoy ordering others about.”

_Do you?_

Any of Aziraphale’s next words were caught up in a rush of cold winter air, and he was soon swept outside by Lord Crowley’s strong hand at his back.

In the grey light of day under endless cloudy skies, Nusquam’s estate grounds gleamed despite the dark figure of the manor looming at the centre. Along the edges of the estate were towering white walls that held back the encroaching woods which Lord Crowley pointed out as the garden maze. Designed to enclose the entire property in an infinite stretch of winding paths for leisure and also protection, he further explained. If Aziraphale stayed close to his side, Lord Crowley cautioned, there was little risk of getting lost.

Which proved concerning when Aziraphale nervously asked if anyone had gotten lost before and Lord Crowley did not reply while Dagon laughed harshly into the biting air.

Hopefully Gabriel was right about the Inferius and their sense of humour.

His worry ebbed away during their amble as Dagon eventually took off ahead of them, calling over her shoulder that Lord Crowley walked far too slow. Considering how fast he knew his lord husband was capable on such long legs, Aziraphale doubted her reasoning but said nothing about the matter. But, with a polite smile Aziraphale waved her off as she rushed down the pathway and disappeared around a corner. Upon this his lord husband stepped closer and offered his arm to Aziraphale, who struggled to withhold his eagerness to take it. He’d never admit to such impropriety, but the walk provided a chance to indulge in Lord Crowley’s steady, if silent presence at his side, and the long line of him faithfully shielded Aziraphale from some of the worst wind that cut over the flat, barren lands of their home.

In this peaceful moment together Aziraphale felt like a married man indeed.

To Aziraphale’s eye it was not much of a garden maze when compared to the luxurious, full bloom ones back in the south. While lovely in its height and winding paths, it was more a perimeter separating the estate’s lands from the heavy woods, even with its twists and turns in the white that tricked his eyes and questioned his steps. Were it not for Lord Crowley guiding the way, becoming lost within the narrow, curving labyrinth morphed into less of a joke to Aziraphale.

Not that Lord Crowley would leave him here to such a fate, Aziraphale hoped, eyes darting around the garden until a flash of colour caught his attention.

“Oh.” Aziraphale walked over to the maze’s wall, a gloved hand brought up to the soft snow. Gently, his fingers sunk further to catch the life of vivid green leaves peeking through at him, and he smiled. “Why a maze?” He glanced over to his lord husband who stood not far away, his dark figure and red hair in stark contrast to the harsh white around them.

“Hm?” Asked Lord Crowley, his dark spectacles tilted up towards the endless grey skies.

“Ah, that is, usually mazes are enclosed or boxed shaped,” Aziraphale said, dropping his hand as another section of snow fell from the maze wall and revealed more lush greenery to his starved eyes. “Often full of flowers, some with fruit. I once saw a maze dedicated to butterflies, even.”

Lord Crowley did not reply, now staring at the garden wall with a hand pressed against it, careful enough not to disturb the snow or leaves underneath. There was no emotion on his face or behind those dark spectacles, but Aziraphale was used to the absence.

Tried to be.

The snow broke and fell when his fingers touched it, and Lord Crowley dropped his hand.

“These temperatures don’t allow much,” Lord Crowley said before he moved away and walked ahead in long strides. “Numerous attempts to grow other plants and trees failed, naturally.”

Desperate not to be left behind, Aziraphale gave one last forlorn look to the greenery and followed after.

“Would a greenhouse not work?” He panted upon catching up, hands clenched around his cloak as the maze rushed with a bite of low, howling wind. Lord Crowley stopped short, his dark boots crunching the snow underfoot.

“A greenhouse?” There was, for the first time since their wedding day, amusement in his lord husband’s voice.

Aziraphale flushed.

“Yes, I read they are often used in colder climates to allow plants and greenery not native to, well.” With that short line his knowledge on the topic tapered off, much to his current misfortune. Lord Crowley shook his head and stopped Aziraphale’s stammer, the helpless wring of his gloved hands.

“I know what a greenhouse is. We have numerous in Nusquam. I’m curious as to your reasoning why the manor could use one,” said Lord Crowley, his other hand came to settle atop Aziraphale’s as it rested in the crook of his long arm, an idle touch he seemed to prefer on their longer walks together. Whether for Aziraphale’s benefit so he did not stray or for Lord Crowley’s it mattered not as Aziraphale could not figure out how to walk, talk, and handle such intimate contact without failing all three at once.

“Well, I’m not sure,” Aziraphale replied and bit his lip as blood roared through his ears. The slow stroke of Lord Crowley’s broad thumb along the top of his hand robbed him of most thought, a prickle of heat risen on the back of his neck despite the chilled air.

“Your reasoning could be anything.” Lord Crowley helped him over where the snow obscured a sudden drop in the landscape’s levelling. They were in a familiar part of the maze now, Aziraphale realised as he saw the faint impressions of their earlier footsteps within the dense snow. Have they travelled the entire perimeter already?

“I wanted to hear it. That’s all.”

Caught in Lord Crowley’s grip Aziraphale craned his neck to meet his own wide-eyed expression reflected within the dark spectacles fixed to his lord husband’s tense expression. Lord Crowley did not move away, and if Aziraphale allowed himself to believe it true, he imagined those amber eyes flickering between his own. Every muscle in his body tensed at their closeness, every ounce of willpower to not drop his gaze to his lord husband’s lips, the softness of which his own mouth still remembered as though it were branded.

He was rather close, Aziraphale realised as something fluttered left of centre in his chest. Like on their wedding day, if his lord husband leaned down—

“There you two went.”

Lord Crowley straightened up and took his attention from Aziraphale to face Dagon, who had rounded a corner of the maze. The warmth of his lord husband lost in the snowy air that swept between them made Aziraphale sigh. Whether with relief or dismay, well.

He adjusted his scarf and went to join the Inferius. 

Best not consider such things.

“She likes you.”

Aziraphale caught himself in time to not choke, although Lord Crowley did turn sharply to face him at the strangled noise caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale asked as he coughed into his hand to recover some dignity.

His lord husband let his waving hand drop when Dagon’s sleigh slipped beyond the darkened woods into obscurity. With a slow turn he led them once more up the manor’s steps as snow fell atop their heads and left droplets of cold on Aziraphale’s nose and cheeks. He brought a gloved hand to wipe them away, aware of his lord husband’s eyes on him as he tried to calm his fluttering heart after their close encounter within the maze.

Since their wedding day he has not deigned to pursue such behaviour with Aziraphale. Not that he would know how to react should Lord Crowley decide he found Aziraphale interesting enough to kiss.

Or anything _else._

“Dagon, she likes you. Her exact words were, ‘bring him to the villages more often’.” Lord Crowley pushed open the door. “If you knew her that’s a high compliment indeed.”

Relieved to be on a safer topic Aziraphale stepped inside and opened his cloak as Lord Crowley pulled it from his shoulders.

“My hope is to cause no offence.”

“Far from it,” Lord Crowley said, and he made to walk down the hallway to where he stored their cloaks and outdoor articles within. “Dagon appreciates anyone that enjoys books and paperwork. It delighted her to no end to see that desk used for once.”

Then, he stopped with a loud sound of his boots on the ground. Aziraphale blinked up at Lord Crowley and the sombre pull of his thin mouth.

“Given what happened in the villages yesterday and then your reaction to your cousin’s letter I had hoped you would be able to have an easier day,” his lord husband said, the dim glow of the light in the hallway limned his face with an unexpected softness rarely seen on those sharp, handsome features.

Aziraphale ached somewhere left of centre at the sight.

“Oh, it’s quite all right. Dagon, she’s,” Aziraphale paused, searching for the words. “I do not have much experience with your family, is all.” Or any other family, but Lord Crowley did not need to know this.

Lord Crowley stepped closer, the cloak draped over his arm shimmered in the burning lights overhead.

“There will be time for that. If you have any questions you’re welcome to ask me.”

Questions. Aziraphale had numerous questions no proper Caelum should have. About the letter, about his family’s expectations, this entire arrangement. Even more intense than those was the desperate, clawing part that needed to know what his lord husband wanted from him. The perfect opportunity to discuss them stood before him, if he only opened his mouth and spoke.

Yet, as the overhead lanterns’ light played across his lord husband’s face, if he believed his own eyes hard enough, Lord Crowley looked _pleased_ with Aziraphale.

Nothing, nothing he wanted to know was worth risking that.

“I’m fine for now,” Aziraphale replied in a voice more confident than he felt. He looked at the floor glittering like a million stars, lip bitten raw between his teeth before he stared up at Lord Crowley.

“Today was lovely,” he continued, certain his face was glaringly red but Lord Crowley did not react from behind those dark spectacles. “Thank you for showing me the garden maze.”

“Anytime,” is all his lord husband replied with. A dark glove reached out towards Aziraphale and, someone forgive him, he winced. Lord Crowley paused at the reaction, his hand hovering in the space between them until settling it down at his side.

“Let me put away our cloaks and I’ll get started on dinner,” Lord Crowley said as he neatly turned on his heel. Were Aziraphale braver, or anything other than himself, he might have called after his lord husband, walked with him to explain himself. Instead, he watched Lord Crowley become smaller, his footsteps’ echoing in time with the pounding beat of Aziraphale’s confused heart.

“Drat.”

Aziraphale’s damp fingers slipped as he attempted to knot a pale yellow bowtie in place for the fifth time that morning. To his left resting on the median between sinks was the robe he’d taken to wearing in bed since his lord husband draped it over his nudity on their wedding night, while the three other clothing options he brought in with him hung limply over an out of place velvet settee not far from the recently used bathtub. As he vainly fumbled the bowtie into submission, he heaved a sigh at how wrinkled the fine fabric had become and the flush of sweat gathered along his neck despite his earlier bathing.

“I won’t be late to breakfast over this nonsense,” Aziraphale muttered to himself as he wiped the back of his neck with a dark towel, catching his own aggravated expression in the washroom’s semi-fogged mirror. Why today of all days was he so jittery? Perhaps his late nights in the library have caught up with him at last. Aziraphale has had many with how little the manor contained to occupy his time otherwise.

Days blurred together in Nusquam, and without him knowing well over a month passed by since he first arrived to be married. Although the winter landscape neither worsened nor improved, Aziraphale had eventually grown accustomed to the endless white expanse of these frozen lands and his life confined in the manor’s dark walls.

As Aziraphale looped the bowtie once more he pointedly ignored how the flawless shine of his wedding ring caught the warm light overhead.

After he realised his lord husband cared not to demand of him anything save for his continued existence inside the manor, Aziraphale learned to make himself scarce. Dutifully accepting Lord Crowley’s implied apathy Aziraphale buried himself in book restorations and his curiosity-fuelled exploration of the library’s dusty corners, finding the further he went countless books and documents that predated what he assumed to be the current form of the region’s language by centuries. Pages upon pages in books so old Aziraphale’s white gloves came away stained with crumbling dust regardless of how delicately he handled them, their drawings faded to mere hints of a world Aziraphale could not imagine beyond Nusquam’s winter.

It was unfortunate that after Dagon’s visit earlier in the month Aziraphale misplaced that strange journal given how curiously out of place it had been. Lost now somewhere under the piles and stacks gathered around the large desk thanks to his absentmindedness, no doubt. There were plenty of other curious finds that pulled his attention, but he remained wistful for that old journal, and the more he learned about Nusquam the less it worked as a distraction to combat the looming expectation of _marital bliss_ both his family and the Inferius believed him to have found with the lord of Nusquam.

Reality proved otherwise, for better or worse.

Lord Crowley’s promise came true to Aziraphale’s unspoken shock, however, as they returned twice to the villages for a variety of errands and tasks Lord Crowley needed to fulfil. If Aziraphale happened to come across anything that caught his eye, his lord husband acquired it for him without so much as a gesture. The threat of those amber eyes glinting at him from over their dark spectacles kept Aziraphale from making a larger fuss than he might like. Not that Lord Crowley has ever implied Aziraphale’s wellbeing could be compromised in his presence, of course, but it was the principle of the matter.

Heavens, he was rude this morning, Aziraphale thought a touch forlornly as he gave a quiet sigh into the humid air of the still steamy washroom.

Late in the evening of the second trip they’d met with the Device family per Lord Crowley’s promise to them, where to Aziraphale’s surprise the main stable also had an extension built onto it which sheltered numerous people in its well-made interior. Anathama and Newt were pleasant enough, even if Newt struggled to meet Aziraphale’s eye as they graciously welcomed Lord Crowley and Aziraphale inside to greet the others. Making matters worse, to Aziraphale’s complete embarrassment everyone kept a polite, albeit obvious, distance from him the entire night. While openly curious and friendly, their attention wavered between Aziraphale and his lord husband’s looming presence, as though unsure who to direct the questions to so as not to cause a repeat of last time. As a result he’d kept to Lord Crowley’s side the entire time, watching from his place on his lord husband’s arm as they reached for his lord husband, one after another, all with smiles and laughter and light in their eyes. They meant well, but it did nothing to alleviate the feeling of being more of an unwieldy anchor attached to Lord Crowley than a new husband.

Determined not to succumb to such gloomy thoughts Aziraphale put on a Caelum smile and spent so long making polite conversation and eating the countless dishes villagers pushed at him that he could not remember how they arrived back at the manor later that night. All he remembered was how he had woken up still clothed save for his shoes and nestled under several blankets, shivering in the dark that next morning.

It was never spoken about. At times when a bone deep loneliness won over his Caelum-bred propriety, Aziraphale stood in front of Lord Crowley’s study, a hand raised to knock on the large wooden door. The risk of no response kept him from connecting his hand to the door, and Aziraphale went to bed colder those particular nights.

Outside of all that, life as Lord Crowley’s husband was…

Things were fine.

Then again, Aziraphale possessed no frame of reference for what constituted an acceptable marriage or not. But in a foolish way he’s relaxed into the role his lord husband provided him.

He was even in a good mood this morning or would be if he might get this bowtie correct. He bit his lip as the knot came undo once more.

“Forget it,” he sighed and reached for the cravat brought in with the rest of his clothing, nestled primly atop the soft white night robe that if Aziraphale stared too long would bring back the memory of how Lord Crowley sounded as he draped it over Aziraphale’s shoulders, how he looked in the bedroom’s doorway before he left Aziraphale alone on their wedding night and every night thereafter. With a quick loop the cravat hung at his throat, a soft tartan pattern that seamlessly blended in with the rest of his ensemble. He blinked at his clear reflection, not sure when the last time he’d worn so much of his family colours had been.

Smoothing a hand down the front of his waistcoat he flinched at the rich gleam of his wedding band. It shifted beautifully in the light, warmed from nothing but his own body heat.

He wondered if Lord Crowley ever looked at his.

Aziraphale left the washroom without another thought on the matter.

“Your cousin arrives today.”

Aziraphale looked over to the head of the table where Lord Crowley, as he did every morning, flipped through his notebook in order to jot a letter he was penning. While deeply curious as to the things his lord husband wrote, Aziraphale remembered his place and tore his eyes away before he replied.

“Which one?” Aziraphale asked as he swirled his spoon through the sweet, savoury breakfast. Another excellent dish by his endlessly capable lord husband, which he confirmed by taking another spoonful with a quiet noise of delight.

Gabriel, based on his most recent correspondence, still wrote from the capital. Apparently, he met another villager from Nusquam there and took residence with them as Gabriel did… whatever he intended on doing up there. The first telegraph was received with the delightfully outraged reaction Aziraphale expected it would be, although he found it difficult to share such a matter with his lord husband and determined not long after the whole thing to be inappropriate behaviour for a lord’s spouse to engage in anyways.

Lord Crowley flipped through his notebook to a filled page and tapped a gloved finger on what appeared to be some complicated scribble. “Uriel,” he answered, and looked up at Aziraphale.

During this time, amidst settling into his new life and the expansive knowledge there was to be found in Nusquam and with its people, Aziraphale had forgotten about the Caelum family. It had been easy enough, forgetting the reason he was here which seemed apparent to everyone but him.

How rude of him, no wonder his family doubted his ability to make this marriage work.

“The offer stands to have them come by at a later date,” Lord Crowley said, the tap of his fingers against the table an idle rhythm Aziraphale failed to place. “Or even not at all.”

“No, no.” Aziraphale took a sip of tea to gather himself, realising he must not have spoken for a while. “Thank you but it would hardly be appropriate to send them away. Family matters, of course.”

“If you insist,” Lord Crowley replied as he tucked his notebook away and his long body unfolded from the chair. “I must take care of a few things before they arrive. We should expect them before sundown.” As he made his way around the table he paused at Aziraphale’s shoulder, a hand touched where he’d set his teacup, a fingertip tracing along the delicate saucer which captured Aziraphale’s frayed focus wholeheartedly.

“Enjoy the rest of your meal and day. I’ll find you when it’s time.”

Aziraphale did not bother to ask how Lord Crowley would know where to find him, and could do no more than nod as his lord husband departed, something heavy in the centre of his chest. His eyes did not leave the saucer, still able to see Lord Crowley’s fingertips along its edge.

Close, but not quite.

Lord Crowley came to collect Aziraphale from the library as the grey sky darkened and a deep chill settled across the barren expanse of the Nusquam estate.

Evening has arrived.

Aziraphale let the curtain fall once more over the frosted window upon sight of a sleigh lantern’s glow coming up the long pathway to the manor, a peculiar sense of calm in his spirit.

Although he spent the past several hours in the library under the pretence of working, he had instead occupied himself by scraping a shaking hand through his hair, picking at his nails, and pacing a worn line into the floor before the blazing fireplace. Then, somewhere between Lord Crowley’s summons and his walk down here, Aziraphale successfully resigned himself to whatever happened on this first meeting with his family as a now married man.

Maybe as a lord’s husband things would be different.

“Let’s be quick,” Lord Crowley said, already wrapped in his dark cloak as he placed Aziraphale’s pale one over his sloped, tired shoulders.

“It’s going to be far colder than usual tonight.”

There was no time to respond even if he had a choice in the matter. With a single push the manor’s door opened wide and Aziraphale braced himself against the warmth rushing past him out into the winter’s darkness. Halfway down the estate’s pathway the lanterns of a village sleigh glimmered as two pinpricks of light, and they watched in silence as a figure stepped down from the sleigh and walked towards them. Lord Crowley raised a hand in greeting to the sleigh driver who ignored him with a pointed crack of the reins and disappeared once more down the path in a flurry of snow and ice.

“Was that...” Aziraphale trailed off as a gust of frozen wind took the last linger of heat from his lips.

“Dagon. You met her earlier this month, remember?” Lord Crowley replied in a low tone as Uriel came into earshot at the base of the staircase. Aziraphale hummed in displeasure. Well, that was not very polite.

“Hail, Lord Crowley,” Uriel called out through the cold winter night and Aziraphale’s heart clenched as their figure shifted into view under the light from the manor’s front windows.

Uriel, the most elusive to pin down out of the Caelum siblings. They rivalled Michael’s assertive methods, possessed a level of cold calculation not even Sandalphon wielded. Combined with an inquisitiveness all their own it has led to Uriel overseeing the Caelum family’s informational network, vital for all investing work the family inundated itself with. With all of this at their disposal, it was inevitable for Uriel to also be the family member most critical of Aziraphale, as they were of all that caught their eye.

Originality was not their forte, though, and over the years it has been a morbid comfort to Aziraphale in his most vulnerable of times that whatever Uriel said to him was never anything he has not already told himself.

As the memory of their letter to him rose in his mind, Aziraphale bit his lip.

A gloved hand settled over his as it gripped the crook of that strong, steady arm. He patted the wrinkles from his soft blue cloak as they watched Uriel ascend the steps of the manor, their own pale grey cloak billowing behind them, caught in the rush of snow and wind that endlessly battered Nusquam.

“Tidings upon you this evening,” Uriel greeted with a short bow to the lord of the estate and slid their dark eyes over to Aziraphale. “Cousin. Good health to you.”

“Uriel,” Aziraphale replied in a stronger voice than he felt. “Good health to you also.”

Lord Crowley gave a short bow in return, his hand on Aziraphale’s a glaringly offensive fixture given how Uriel’s eyes darted down to it with a thoughtful frown. Such open displays, Aziraphale remembered with a brittle smile, were unseemly to the Caelum. But he dared not remove his hand, it was all that kept him upright under Uriel’s probing stare.

“Uriel, it is good to see you again,” his lord husband said and how he sounded so calm eluded Aziraphale. “I trust Nusquam has treated you well so far?”

“Indeed,” Uriel replied and adjusted the latched collar of their cloak as they looked around the manor’s luxurious main hall. “Nusquam occupies a curious place within this region. I learn new aspects regarding it and its people daily.” Aziraphale winced. That was not a good assessment. Lord Crowley, none the wiser, made a short noise of agreement as he closed the doors behind them and slid Aziraphale’s cloak from his shoulders.

“Glad to hear. May it continue to interest you,” Lord Crowley said and proffered a hand to Uriel who stood straighter, caught out as they stared. “Let me take your cloak and we’ll discuss your plans and expectations for the evening.”

“Expectations is a fitting word,” Uriel murmured as they dropped their cloak in Lord Crowley’s hand, mindful not to make contact. With a short glance at Aziraphale he walked away and Lord Crowley’s boots on the marble flooring sounded louder than usual as though he wanted them to know where he went, not too far from reach.

“You do not assist him?” Uriel asked the moment Lord Crowley was out of sight and they were left standing together in the manor’s entryway. Aziraphale clasped his hands in front of him to refrain from tugging at his cravat, too warm around his neck.

“Ah,” Aziraphale looked towards where his lord husband went. “He prefers I not, actually.”

“Regardless.” Uriel hummed thoughtfully as they pulled their fine leather gloves off, a sharp glance in the same direction as Aziraphale’s.

“As his husband you should make the effort since you hardly did so upon—”

Lord Crowley came back at that precise moment, his closely tailored dark outfit swallowing the light from the overhead chandelier that cast Uriel’s own sharp clothing in rich golden hues. Almost the perfect match to Lord Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale noted with an unusual burn inside his chest.

“There’s some time before dinner will be ready,” Lord Crowley dipped his chin as he looked at Uriel. “Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to see?”

“I have it in good faith that there is a library here similar to the Caelum personal archives,” Uriel said as they watched the stretch of Lord Crowley’s hand settle on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale hoped his breathing did not hitch as his heart stuttered, both at the contact and Uriel’s question. Although not truly his, he’d grown fond of the manor’s library, it was his own sanctuary the likes of which he never had before, not even back home.

Back home. He was a Caelum, right. A Caelum away given in marriage. Such behaviour, such selfish thoughts were most unbecoming of him especially towards a family member and in the presence of his lord husband no less. Both of whom expected so much more of him.

“We do,” Lord Crowley interrupted Aziraphale’s thoughts as he tapped a long finger atop Aziraphale’s shoulder. An idle, far too casual to be effortless touch. “Unfortunately, it’s open solely to the Inferius family due to the literature stored there.”

“Ah, I am sure it will be fine,” Aziraphale hurried to respond, aware of how Uriel’s eyes held the entire Caelum family behind them as they narrowed at Lord Crowley’s answer. “We are family now, after all.” As Aziraphale looked up at Lord Crowley in search of support, the smile on his face dropped.

There was a darkness deep within his lord husband’s expression just then, hard and cold, before it cleared to his usual neutrality as though never there.

“As you like,” Lord Crowley replied in a tone Aziraphale fought to not view as rejection, unsure what he did so wrong. “If you could be so kind as to escort your cousin. I must see to tonight’s meal.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale breathed out to the back of Lord Crowley’s retreating figure, knowing what Uriel was about to say before they opened their mouth.

“You do not assist him with that either?” Uriel asked, a lilt of humour in their voice. Aziraphale swallowed thickly, a flush smeared across his cheeks.

“He—”

“Prefers you not?” Uriel finished, the curve of their mouth sharp as a blade. “What do you do here, cousin.” Uriel stepped around Aziraphale and gestured for him to lead onwards. “I’m not sure the Inferius intended on marrying their lord to such inactivity when they approached us for this union.”

As they walked towards the library Aziraphale glanced mournfully back to where his lord husband had gone.

Uriel was right.

What _does_ he even do here?

“Well, here we are,” Aziraphale said as he gestured for Uriel to step inside, the clack of their shoes echoing on the hard stone floors of the library until it was muffled by the thick rugs Lord Crowley had laid down sometime in the past month.

Which Aziraphale had not noticed until now.

He stared down at the neat, colourful patterns until Uriel’s shadow caught the library’s firelight, their slim, refined figure effortlessly at ease in this foreign land in a way Aziraphale never has been. Aziraphale drummed his fingers over the pocket watch in his waistcoat. His wedding band clinked dully against the other’s metal and he flinched at the noise.

“Is there anything you’d like to see?” Aziraphale tried, tongue awkward in his mouth. “They have some delightful books on regional animals that—”

“Michael,” Uriel’s gloved fingers tapped against the tarnished brass of a shelf label, before they lifted to reveal a smudge of dirt on the fine, tanned fabric. “Finds your husband curious, which is saying something given how she regards most people.”

Aziraphale knew it was absurd to think such things about one’s family, but an unspoken worry pressed incessantly against the back of his forehead at Uriel’s words.

“Yes, he certainly can be. Curious, that is,” he said, a touch of fondness in his smile as the words rang true. Lord Crowley, for his unknowns, was far from boring. A bark of laughter sliced through the air, barely heard over the roaring fire in the hearth. Uriel slid their eyes towards him as their lip curled.

“For a newly married lord he’s not very taken with you. Any insight into why?”

Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder to where Uriel was watching the doors his lord husband might enter through at any moment to announce their dinner as ready. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, not with his family, not even with himself.

“Ah, well.” He thought back to the offered arm, the slight touches against his back, his shoulders, the enfolding of Aziraphale against his chest during their sleigh rides into town. He almost kissed Aziraphale, or Aziraphale thought he might. Those count. They have to, they are all Aziraphale has ever known. Aziraphale swallowed down the vice that gripped his throat, only for it to clench in his stomach.

“Caelum has specific rules regarding touch.” Lord Crowley must know that, if the matriarch’s hand was involved in this marriage’s arrangement.

“But he’s not Caelum, is he,” Uriel ruthlessly countered as they turned back to the library, critical eyes scanning across each of the shelves in view. “He’s an Inferius, a northern _lord_ of these people. From what the villagers have said during my time here thus far, neither he nor his family are reluctant to be affectionate with others.”

Uriel let the disapproving words hang between them and Aziraphale. He knew his cousin was doing this on purpose, but he was defenceless as the implications speared through his already fragile self-confidence. He knew, having seen the way the villagers spoke with his lord husband, the way they reached for him with their eyes and hands. Whether or not Lord Crowley returned their admiration in a more pointed context Aziraphale could not tell, did not even want to know. Like his worries on his wedding night that crept through the loneliness, he would not be surprised.

“Did you…” Aziraphale brought his hands up over his chest, fingers threaded together as an old, reliable comfort. His ever-faithful shield all these lonely years. “Did you come here tonight for anything in particular, Uriel?”

Uriel’s hand paused over the spine of a thick book that bowed the shelf it rests upon, letting their fingers climb to another shelf that Aziraphale needed a stool to reach.

“Between us, I have no opinion on your husband outside of those ridiculous spectacles permanently attached to his face.” Uriel chuckled to themselves and plucked a thin, plain book from a high shelf and flipped through without bothering to read whatever was written on its fragile pages. “He exists, is a powerful ally for Caelum to have this far north, and you are bound to him for reasons the matriarch deemed important to the Caelum family. That is enough for the majority of the family.”

They sighed as they closed the book and placed it back onto its rightful shelf, ignorant or perhaps apathetic of the cloud of dust the motion released into the library’s chilled air. Aziraphale’s eyes did not know where to focus, caught between Uriel’s oppressive presence in this vulnerable sanctuary of his and their flawless appearance and persona. Perfectly crafted, far more deserving of a lord’s attentions, any of his cousins would be.

Why, he asked the dark of his mind, why was he suddenly doing this to himself again.

“Truthfully this would have been better handled by another one of my siblings. However, Michael has higher priorities than you and as I am stationed here until Gabriel returns it befell upon me to see how you were faring,” Uriel turned, hands threaded together as they stepped closer. Aziraphale knew there was more. Uriel’s words lacked any true concern for him, and he stood dutifully mute as he waited.

“Most of all, I’m here to understand something that happened on your wedding day.”

“My, my wedding day?” Aziraphale asked as he looked over to the doorways, prayed to everything out there that his lord husband did not return during this.

“Yes. Before the ceremony Gabriel handed Michael a deliberately obtuse message that I glanced at. As a result of my obligation to the Caelum family during these times,” Uriel narrowed their dark eyes at Aziraphale. “I felt it befitting to investigate.”

Aziraphale shifted. Whenever Uriel undertook an _investigation_ , things were identified as serious. “What did the message say?”

Uriel shrugged one defined shoulder. “All it said was ‘mind the corners’.”

“Mind the corners?” At the same time Aziraphale and Uriel looked towards the heavily shadowed corner near the doorway, where the roaring firelight failed to reach. One of the logs in the hearth split, and a burst of light revealed the empty corner before it faded to darkness once more.

They turned back to one another.

“You know how Gabriel can be,” Uriel said as they adjusted their high collar around the visible work of their throat. “Finds problems where there are none. Speaks when no one wants to hear him.”

Aziraphale blinked before forcing himself to sidestep a confrontation that would only lead to him having more of Uriel’s ire directed towards him. His spirit barely possessed the strength to endure this current conversation.

“As head of the family,” Aziraphale tread, an underlying hesitance in his voice. “I’m sure his reasoning is sound.”

“Of course you would say that.” Uriel heaved a sigh, but they said no more as the fire’s merry crackling continued on. When Lord Crowley came by a few minutes later to collect them, he did not remark on the tense atmosphere between Aziraphale and Uriel as he checked on the fire before announcing dinner was served.

As they walked the dark journey back in silence, Aziraphale could not help but notice Lord Crowley’s grip on his hand felt the slightest bit colder.

Aziraphale’s fork vibrated in his grasp as he battled whether to bring the small slice of warm meat to his lips, conscious of the scrutiny Uriel gave him. He set the fork down and made to take a sip of his tea instead despite the persistent twinge of hunger, hoping to settle the nervous jumble in his stomach.

“Were the roads clear enough on your journey?” Lord Crowley asked, the tone of his voice more accommodating than Aziraphale knew him capable.

“As to be expected in the wintertime,” Uriel replied and he watched his lord husband’s jaw work for a moment until Aziraphale had no choice but to look down at his meal, guilty.

This dinner has gone far, far worse than he had feared.

While Lord Crowley valiantly initiated conversation with Uriel numerous times during the past hour, they replied clipped, elusive sentences that even Aziraphale could tell were not meant to encourage any familial bonding. Curiosity served no purpose in the Caelum family and Uriel was attempting to drive this home without outright saying so to a powerful noble. But Lord Crowley was not picking up on it as he persisted, occasionally glancing at Aziraphale with a deepening furrow in his brow.

At the cost of his lord husband’s dignity Aziraphale now knew what it would be like for him to witness Lord Crowley at a Caelum dinner, and it made his heart ache with shame. This was his fault, this was all Aziraphale’s fault for needing his family to check up on him.

Far more graciously than either Aziraphale or Uriel deserved, Lord Crowley cleared his throat after his latest attempt to form a dialogue with his new relative withered on the vine.

“So, did you both enjoy the library?”

Uriel glanced over at Aziraphale in what he knew to be warning before they directed a charming smile at Lord Crowley. “Indeed, Lord Crowley, you seem to have articles and books that predate the founding of Nusquam. How did you ever acquire such an extensive collection?”

Emboldened by this topic’s survival, Lord Crowley leaned forward as he looked between them both from over his dark spectacles, the barest sliver of amber visible to Aziraphale. “Many of Nusquam’s first settlers came from regions beyond our borders. It was natural for them to bring such old books and for us to preserve them as part of our history.”

“Of course,” Uriel demurred as they paused to take a sip of their tea. “Admirable of your family to volunteer for such a responsibility.”

“My family takes immense pride in serving Nusquam. Using the manor as another means of doing so was the better decision.” Aziraphale blinked at Lord Crowley, who had turned to him as he spoke this final part. That was a generous, if odd, perspective for a noble to take.

“Speaking of this fine manor, I wanted to get a tour in its entirety,” Uriel said as they set aside their teacup with a soft clink of porcelain against the wooden table.

“We can make that happen.”

We. Aziraphale liked how that sounded, his stomach easing enough for him to spear a delicious looking piece of his meal, something savoury it seemed, generously smothered in a pale cream sauce. When he bit into it he concealed his pleasure with a hand as he glanced between Uriel and Lord Crowley. Maybe tonight was not such a lost cause after all.

“Thank you, but I’m certain it would be more efficient if I went alone.” They dipped their chin, that smile still on their face. Aziraphale bit into his forkful with a touch more force than normal as Lord Crowley gestured around them with a long, gloved hand.

“Most of the hallways are deliberately unlit to conserve oil,” Lord Crowley replied in a polite tone, though what looked to be the beginnings of a frown stretched its way across his lips. “Would be unfortunate for you to get lost.”

Something was wrong here.

“Then I’ll need a lantern, won’t I.” Uriel clasped their hands on the table, a mask of unyielding neutrality. “Surely the one the lord of the estate uses will suffice. You do keep it hanging on that hook by the stairs. A rather prominent place for a mere lantern, don’t you think?”

Lord Crowley scowled. Uriel did no more than take another sip of their tea.

After a tense silence, where Aziraphale thought for an irrational moment his lord husband might go so far as to throw Uriel from the manor, he rose from his seat in a stretch of dark material and long limbs.

“‘Course, as you are my guest. Let me show you to the lantern and staircase.” Uriel stood without preamble and made for the door. Aziraphale made to stand but a cool, firm pressure on his shoulder kept him seated.

“Stay here, enjoy your dinner. I’ll escort your cousin and return shortly to bring you the rest.” Even through the thick layers of fabric, Aziraphale could not ignore how Lord Crowley squeezed ever so slightly as his large hand lingered. Behind his lord husband he caught Uriel frowning, their eyes narrowed at the back of Lord Crowley’s head as if they expected better of him.

What, Aziraphale found he did not want to know.

The hours ticked by and Uriel did not return.

Aziraphale glanced out the window to see grey skies darken and at last give way to the blanket of night. His favourite handkerchief had been worried thin between his fingers, a corner’s threads now frayed by the repetitive worry of his thumb and forefinger.

“Uriel should be back by now,” Aziraphale turned to where his lord husband sat, an assortment of papers scattered over a large portion of the dining table. Never has he seen his lord husband’s work in such disarray, the broad line of his shoulders so tense Aziraphale worried if he approached they might snap. At Aziraphale’s words he seemed to relax and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep breath. He slid his fingers down to rest over his dark spectacles, however, instead of picking back up his pen.

“Your cousin returned ten minutes ago. They’re over in the atrium.”

“They are? But, how did you know?” Aziraphale spun to face his lord husband. He blinked as Lord Crowley looked up, the sound of the fire popped and crackled in the long pause between them.

This was all… very strange, Aziraphale admitted to himself.

“Heard the doors open. They’re the loudest in the manor,” Lord Crowley answered slowly as he lowered his hand. “I assumed your cousin would return when they desired.”

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale glanced off to the doors, worried at his waistcoat’s hem under damp fingers. Leaving Uriel alone in an unfamiliar place, especially one so _dark_ , would not be wise or the right thing to do. Not at all. “Should I check up on them, then?” Aziraphale gave a weak chuckle as he stood, careful not to disturb his lord husband’s or his papers.

“Yes, of course. Well, back in a bit.”

Lord Crowley did not reply, but Aziraphale felt eyes on him as he walked out.

To say Aziraphale avoided the atrium might be considered improper, however that did not make it any less true.

He made a left in the main room of the manor towards the atrium, its darkened entryway straddled by the twin staircases that led upstairs to his bedroom and other darkened corners of the manor he’s never been brave enough to ask about let alone explore. The sound of his shoes clicked loud against the hard marble flooring as he searched the room, remembering his cousins’ words as they congratulated him out one side of their mouth and mocked him out the other, Gabriel’s reassurances regarding his ability to do this. It was here, Aziraphale recalled as he looked up to the ornate moulding around the archway, to the enormous doors that hid the atrium from his view, where he first met Lord Crowley.

They walked into the atrium together, his first touch experienced through the simple act of the other man’s arm holding him steady as they entered into this marriage.

“Heavens,” he gasped at his pale reflection in the wall length mirror, caught by the dim light from the main room behind him. He breathed deeply to calm the pound of his heartbeat and turned away to the atrium’s doors where Lord Crowley said his cousin was.

“Uriel?” Aziraphale knocked, then knocked again, feeling foolish as he talked to a door. “Are you in there?”

No answer. A deep breath, and Aziraphale muffled a grunt as he leaned his weight into the massive door until it gave way as though parting a curtain. With a yelp he stumbled into the atrium and caught himself on the edge of an aisle.

“Well then,” he ran a hand through his hair as he straightened. “Not quite as heavy as I thought.”

It was dreadfully cold in here, Aziraphale shivered as he rubbed at his arms and looked around.

“Uriel, are you—”

“I’m here.”

Standing where Aziraphale and Lord Crowley had exchanged their vows was Uriel. Lord Crowley’s lantern flickered harshly in their grip to slice light across random parts of the empty, hollow room. They made no move to acknowledge him when he came closer as they held the lantern high over their head, where the unlit candles and what appeared to be the pitch dark wood of the atrium were cast about. How high this room’s walls must stretch that Aziraphale could not see the ceiling as the lantern’s light failed to reach beyond the black.

“Uriel?” Aziraphale stepped forward, hands clasped around his front where the warm metal of his wedding band dug into his skin. “Sorry to interrupt. We have been wondering if you would like to come join us back in the dining room, is all.”

Uriel lowered the lantern and gave a sigh, the noise whistling through the still air around them.

“Do you understand that the matriarch herself chose you for this?”

He halted. The lantern’s flame seemed to pause with him. A chill crept up his neck.

“Of course I do,” he whispered. “May I ask what is wrong?”

“A lot, unfortunately.” Uriel stepped down from the altar section and towards Aziraphale, the lantern’s flame restless and sporadic in its glow. “With regards to the matriarch’s reasoning for investing so much of the Caelum family’s honour into you, I’m concerned you are not living up to everyone’s _expectations._ Tonight has confirmed this.”

Aziraphale touched a numb finger to the ring on his hand. Uriel’s gaze followed.

“I’m, I’m sure his lordship is.” Aziraphale swallowed, the lantern’s light flared bright enough to cast Uriel in a harsh, unforgiving glow. “Satisfied with the current arrangement.”

“Is he now,” Uriel’s eyes flicked across him, the open disgust they and his other cousins have for his appearance obvious in the gesture.

“He would say something if otherwise.” Aziraphale prayed to everything out there that Lord Crowley has found nothing so far.

“Would he now.” A terrible curve warped Uriel’s mouth, only for it to tick back down as they looked around the atrium once more. “It seems to me, Aziraphale, that everything from the way you speak to the way you eat has devolved into a state that is most unbecoming of a Caelum. Has little more than a month truly led you astray in such a capacity?”

Aziraphale said nothing.

“Perhaps his lordship does not understand the standards to which we hold you. Maybe he does not bother, knowing you cannot meet them anyway. But Gabriel is in the capital trying to meet with the Inferius relative that lives up there and struggling to get them to so much as grant him an audience. While our head of the family is out chasing that lead, Michael and Sandalphon have spent _weeks_ combing over every piece of legal documentation they can find to protect not only our family’s estate but the matriarch’s good name.”

Their grip on the lantern’s handle tightened. “All this, and here you are, incapable of this one thing.”

“Uriel, please maybe we can help,” Aziraphale tried, hands up as a barrier between them. “I’m sure his lordship would be able to assist with - with whatever Gabriel and the others need.”

Uriel shook their head, stepping closer as Aziraphale stepped back into the atrium’s dark entryway. The lantern in their hand blazed, casting his cousin in a gleam of endlessly shifting orange and reds. He looked over into the mirror, caught in the lantern’s unforgiving light as his own frightened face stared back at him.

“You don’t get it, but no surprise there,” Uriel scoffed, a harsh noise. “While you might think you can live here without consequence, be aware that your arrangement has a lot riding on it. If the matriarch had you out of everyone else in our family marry this lord it is in _everyone’s_ best interests that you abide by whatever he—”

“Must be about that time, isn’t it?”

Uriel and Aziraphale jumped around at the voice which came from nothing. Lord Crowley stood there, tall and looming, his expression darker than Aziraphale has ever known.

“My lord—”

“Excuse me?” Uriel asked, their voice and grip on the lantern a near stranglehold. Lord Crowley raised his chin to look down his nose and it was unclear who he directed the stonelike gaze at.

“Your sleigh was scheduled to return at this time, was it not? They’ve just arrived.”

“Has it now.” Uriel stomped around Lord Crowley back into the main entryway. They paused at the base of the staircases, as if in thought, before they dimmed the lantern and set it upon the hook with more force than Aziraphale thought warranted if how it swung. Uriel did not speak as they all strode over to the windows, but Aziraphale saw through the twinkling lantern lights of a sleigh come up the estate’s path.

“Indeed,” they murmured softly, fingers pressed against the window as the glass fogged with their breath. Uriel turned towards Lord Crowley once more, dark eyes cast bright from the glow overhead as his lord husband became no more than a shadow at Aziraphale’s side.

“Such accuracy. Though, you would know Nusquam better than I would, after all.” The blotted reflection across Lord Crowley’s dark spectacles gave nothing as the even darker expression on his face remained. Uriel folded their arms over their chest as they looked over Lord Crowley’s figure. “I must thank you for allowing me to borrow the lantern. Interesting for a lord of your standing to keep only one around. Was that a deliberate choice?”

“Not everyone is unsatisfied with the hospitality I provide,” Lord Crowley’s voice was ice. Aziraphale flinched at the bunched muscles in his lord husband’s jaw, and a hand settled on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He barely felt its usual gentleness as an impossible chill from those fingers shivered through his body, but his mind was far too occupied by the unspoken alternatives to Lord Crowley’s version of hospitality.

Based on Uriel’s tense, blanched expression, so were they.

“Walk with me, cousin.”

Aziraphale took a breath and hesitantly pulled away from his lord husband’s unresisting grip to step into stride alongside Uriel. With a glance back he saw Lord Crowley fold his arms over his chest, the finer details of his expression blurred by the flutter of snowfall.

Above him the night sky was speckled by the falling snow that landed on his nose and cheeks, melting to leave thin wet streaks. He wiped off the gathered droplets and glanced at Uriel. They held themselves proudly, resplendent in their cloak billowing about in the wind underfoot but they did not speak the entire way down the path, their eyes darting about as they walked towards the sleigh.

Were he presumptuous, Aziraphale might have thought they looked nervous, hunted even. Before Aziraphale might ask, Uriel raised a hand.

“This is fine. I wanted to be out of your lord husband’s earshot.”

A blink, he schooled his expression by making a point to brush the snow from his hair as Uriel looked out into the darkness to where the sleigh’s lanterns twinkled. The reindeer pulling it were winding down to a slow trot, powdery snow kicked up by their hooves like small clouds.

A white-clouded sky, he hasn’t seen one of those in a while. Grey, only grey.

“There is something wrong with this manor, Aziraphale,” Uriel sounded different, distracted. Even when the sleigh pulled beside them Uriel continued to glance around, over Aziraphale’s shoulder, down the pathway out to the woods beyond the estate’s garden walls.

“Ah yes, dreadfully cold,” Aziraphale replied as he tugged his lord husband’s scarf around his neck, wishing he were inside that manor and not out here. “His lordship did say most lanterns are not lit to preserve—”

“The matriarch expects a lot of you here.” Uriel slid their eyes over Aziraphale’s shoulder, back down the path to the manor where his lord husband waited. Their jaw clenched tight and they leaned close to his ear.

“Make sure you get it right. I’ll be checking in on you soon.”

“Yes, cousin,” Aziraphale murmured as Uriel climbed into the sleigh. An unfamiliar person sat at the helm, but he raised a tired hand in greeting. At the smile and wave they delivered in return, he realised they must not be Inferius and his own smile relaxed.

“You, you both take care now!” Aziraphale called into the snowy night as the sleigh disappeared into the woods and away from the manor which cut its swath of darkness into the night.

“Oh dear,” he whispered when nothing but the wind was left to hear him.

The slow, chilled walk up to the manor’s steps, where his lord husband still waited, felt as though he walked the entire night. Aziraphale pulled his cloak around his shivering chest. In all his years of knowing them, not once has Uriel behaved so cruelly, and in front of someone so highly ranked no less. It was reasonable to expect Uriel’s remarks and criticisms behind closed doors, but Lord Crowley had neither deserved nor been prepared for any of the Caelum family’s typical behaviour.

Another thing he’d failed to do for them all.

Lord Crowley no doubt would be having words with the rest of the Inferius, so would it be appropriate to consult with Gabriel on this? Marital issues were one thing, but familial strife so early would be cause for concern by any standard. Aziraphale squeezed his fingers as he stepped beside Lord Crowley and they walked up the stairs to their home.

He would need to send a letter out to Gabriel soon, but not tonight. There was something else far more pressing he needed to take care of. Expectations. His family’s were definitely made clear after Uriel’s visit.

As for Lord Crowley’s… 

Aziraphale jumped when his lord husband returned at that moment from putting up their cloaks. Unable to face the other man yet, he kept his eyes on the glittering marble floors until he saw Lord Crowley’s dark boots step away from him.

“I’ll leave you be,” said Lord Crowley. “The way is lit for you when you wish to retire for the night.”

“Actually,” Aziraphale held a hand up as Lord Crowley began to depart, unsure what to do with it. He glanced quickly up to watch his lord husband touch a fingertip to the side of his spectacles, but he halted at Aziraphale’s words.

“Would you be willing to walk me?”

Lord Crowley jerked his head in semblance of a nod. From the bottom of the stairs he watched mutely as Lord Crowley collect the lantern, heavy in hand with its unforgiving iron angles and he spent a quiet moment adjusting its steady flame to burn brighter than usual. With his right arm offered as always, Lord Crowley led them up and through the hallways, a comfortable path he kept lit for Aziraphale, but nothing beyond it.

The spiral of Aziraphale’s thoughts quickened alongside his heartbeat the longer they walked. Aziraphale glanced up at Lord Crowley’s impassive far, his long arm holding out the lantern with its flickering glow. 

It felt like his wedding night.

Not for the first time Aziraphale wondered if Lord Crowley resented him for how that dreadful night went, all those weeks ago. His fingers trembled as they gripped the fabric of Lord Crowley’s sleeve at the thought and sweat dripped down his temples the closer they got to the bedroom. Uriel’s words circled the track in his mind as he followed Lord Crowley on the familiar left turn down the ornate, richly lit hallway.

Did Lord Crowley even _want_ a husband?

Lord Crowley barely touched him, doing so with his gloves removed once. Save for their wedding day he never held Aziraphale’s hand, never kissed him. A true lord in conduct to respect Caelum propriety, but Aziraphale did not find comfort in this anymore. It terrified him the longer the days went on, and he bit his lip at how despite working so hard this past month to overcome the disaster of their wedding night, he was right back where he started. Uriel had been right. His inability to perform his marital duties, behave as a proper lord’s husband would cost both sides this entire arrangement.

Lord Crowley was not going to wait for Aziraphale forever.

“Here we are,” Lord Crowley said, unaware of how Aziraphale ground his teeth to suppress their chatter. A damp hand went to loosen the stranglehold of his cravat around his neck, only to find his fingers too stiff for the simple task.

Aziraphale was prepared for tonight, but outside of bringing Lord Crowley into the bedroom he went out of his way to avoid whenever Aziraphale inhabited them Aziraphale did not have a plan. Should he speak up and try for them to sit down beforehand? Maybe he could be convinced to ease Aziraphale into this. Marriages surely did not have to be consummated in a rush of obligation, he hoped.

Or, would Lord Crowley simply ignore his request and order him to disrobe, the same way he did that first night?

His chest hurt as he took in a breath and looked up to where Lord Crowley lingered before the fire. Now or never, it seemed.

“Would you—”

“Your cousin was out of line.”

Lord Crowle’s voice ground Aziraphale to a halt. As he turned the entirety of his face became concealed in shadow, his silhouette darkened before the fire. For an instant a charred smudge blurred Aziraphale’s vision and he quickly blinked as his lord husband’s figure refocussed. How odd.

“My lord?”

“Always with the…” Lord Crowley shook his head and crossed his arms as he stared across the room at Aziraphale. “From the moment Uriel arrived at the manor they had nothing appropriate to say. Nor did they behave as one should towards the husband of a lord. Unless they apologise and their behaviour changes I don't want them back here.”

It was humiliating. Crushing. This entire night has been a disaster, and Uriel obviously knew it would be the moment they sent their letter over a month ago. Aziraphale swallowed the sting of his lord husband’s words and mustered himself for his family’s sake.

“You, you cannot do that to them or anyone else in my family,” he said, and watched how his lord husband’s brow folded in response.

“I can’t?” Lord Crowley did not sound angry, but he did not sound pleased either.

“My family, I - they have every right to ensure I’m upholding their expectations and my obligations. It’s, it is all part of Caelum tradition as you know,” Aziraphale replied on a rushed breath, hands clasped tight enough to make his fingers ache, his knuckles crack. Lord Crowley shifted his weight to one side as he spoke, face still obscured but Aziraphale heard the creep of censure in his low voice.

“So you consider yourself a Caelum?” 

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, a strange thread of uncertainty suddenly weaving its way through his voice. His next words were out before he could stop them. “I am here for my family’s side of this arrangement, after all.”

Lord Crowley remained silent, the dull roar of the fire spoke on his behalf as the seconds ticked by. For so long Aziraphale stood underneath the shadow of his lord husband’s unyielding dark spectacles that he made to speak once more when Lord Crowley straightened.

“I see. Now I know why you invited me here tonight.”

“You do?” Aziraphale asked as every drop of blood in his veins froze, as the heat from the fire extinguished well before it touched him.

“It’s been over a month since we were wed.” Lord Crowley continued as if Aziraphale had not spoken and opened his hands in a show of supplication, slices of darkness much like the fanning of wings. “If we’re talking about your _obligations,_ our wedding night didn’t go the way of satisfying such things. Now, did it?”

Aziraphale could not breathe.

“If I suggested for you to get on the bed, what would you do?”

Cry, undoubtedly. Beg as he would have on their wedding night for some degree of mercy, to at least let this unknown, terrifying experience occur without pain. Aziraphale did neither, but the pathetic bloom of a whimper slipped past his lips into the bedroom’s oppressive air before he might stop it.

“I, I would abide by my lord’s wishes, of course—”

Lord Crowley took a step towards him.

Aziraphale flinched, the fine fabric of his waistcoat held harshly between white-knuckled fists as his heart hammered a painful rhythm against his chest. Lord Crowley tilted his head down to watch Aziraphale’s hands, but he moved no closer.

“Let’s try this again. If I, your husband, were to take you to bed would it be something you desired of your own free will?”

As he looked up at Lord Crowley and into his frightened reflection staring back, Aziraphale thought about those eyes on him as he held up the cloaks in the clothier’s shop. He thought about large hands, gentle as they helped him in and out of sleighs and through doors, as he was guided through the manor and villages with a steady patience each time Aziraphale wanted to look around or browse. Every rambling conversation he let Aziraphale subject him to, every accommodation his lord husband provided without so much as a complaint to Aziraphale or to - as far as he knew - anyone else.

“Well?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes.

Upon a tide of darkness he could not fight, his thoughts flooded with the letters received from his family appeared before him, each imploring with varying degrees of subtlety to not shame them.

To ensure his lord husband remained _satisfied._

Worst of all, perhaps, was as he looked at those concealed eyes, Aziraphale remembered how Lord Crowley watched him undress on their wedding night. How his lord husband spoke to him through that ordeal with short, relentlessly cold orders, exactly how Aziraphale has lived his entire life. Tears built in the corners of his eyes and Lord Crowley’s jaw clenched as Aziraphale thought about going from the safety of never having touched another person to having himself potentially touched in ways he did not understand by someone he barely knew.

Someone who, on their wedding day, did not bother to include any mention of love in their vows whether real or not, when it came to this one desperate, hidden longing of Aziraphale’s. The only one he’d ever truly had.

“…Forgive me,” he whispered, burning alive with disappointment in himself. Had the manor’s massive entryway doors swung open and let in the relentless bite of winter, Aziraphale would have felt no worse than how his lord husband’s presence retreated from him.

“Don’t apologise. It’s not why I wed you.”

 _Then why did you?_ The words strangled Aziraphale as he shook, fighting back tears. Helpless to do little more than watch his lord husband turn and depart without their usual bid of good night. Aziraphale doubted the truth in those words as the door shut behind him with a deafeningly soft click. If Aziraphale truly had nothing else but himself to offer and even that was not wanted, there was little else that would hold this marriage together.

This arrangement’s survival counted on him to make it work, and so far he’s failed every step of the way.

Aziraphale watched the fire his lord husband tended to more than their marriage, mind blank as he slowly spun the body-warmed band on his finger. The further into the night he stood there, the fire’s blaze flickered and dimmed with each tear that dripped down his face.

He woke in the dead of night as a fresh wave of tears pooled in his eyes and an unfamiliar flush of arousal that warred against the shame blazing hot within his belly. Darkness reigned as the night continued, pointedly silent without a single soul awake save for his own. There was a long way to go before a new day found Aziraphale.

Even when the cold of the bedroom seeped into his skin, the thick haze of dreams clung to the edges of his overwrought mind. Within the darkness of his dreams, Aziraphale had endured the harsh weight of his lord husband’s hand between his shoulder blades. It had been followed by a hard push as he was pressed down into the bedsheets, the sharp fingers of his lord husband’s other hand gripped Aziraphale’s hip as he moved with a brutality subdued only by Aziraphale’s own ignorance regarding the entire matter. In the muted silence of his dream, he had bit his lip until it bled to keep his sobs quiet until a vagueness surrounding the achievement of his lord husband’s satisfaction occurred and he was released from the other’s cruel grip.

There was no consolation to be found after his undoubtedly pathetic offerings, his dreams mercilessly supplied. Aziraphale remembered as if it had been real how his lord husband shoved him aside now that their obligation to both of their families was at last fulfilled, having deemed Aziraphale too disappointing to endure further.

With a quiet sob into the silken down of his pillows, Aziraphale pulled the covers high over him in the hopes the pitiful noise did not travel down the hall to where his lord husband preferred to spend his nights.

A place without a husband unable to offer more than himself as a burden.

As his chest heaved against the pain of his vicious, irrational dreams, Aziraphale wished someone might have explained all this to him. That his family never left him here without anything to go based off of, instead of hinting at it all and how he would never be good enough anyways, whether said outright or by the lifetime of corrections he tried so hard to obey. Across the darkness of his empty bedroom, the fire flickered its fading life, and he flinched at the sharp crack of frost as it expanded over the windows. Red-rimmed, aching eyes gradually closed and he burrowed underneath the covers as a chill unlike any other settled over him.

Eventually, as the night crept on, sleep returned to him carrying with it no other dreams.

Aziraphale jolted awake at the sound of a loud knock on his bedroom door. His eyes reluctantly cracked open to the bone cold air of the dimly aglow bedroom, a numbness present in his chest where anxiety and hope once lived in failed balance.

It must be midday Aziraphale thought and tiredly ran a hand down his face as he looked over to the windows, unsure why he did so despite knowing they would be curtained off. Not since his early youth has Aziraphale slept so late, and found he could sleep for a century more with the exhaustion that weighed so heavy on him. Lord Crowley undoubtedly would not be pleased at this unacceptable break in their routine, but for the first time since they married Aziraphale found little will to care.

Energy to cover himself proved even more difficult to find, save to close the sweat-dampened, undone robe around himself in a poor attempt at modesty. His limbs were more uncoordinated than blocks of lead as he struggled into an upright position and pulled the covers with him to fight the bedroom’s persistent chill.

Taking a slow breath, Aziraphale looked over to the door where an unusual silence followed the knock. Lord Crowley had not immediately opened the door as he usually did without waiting for an invitation.

“Co—” Aziraphale coughed, swallowed against the rawness of his throat and tried again.

“Come in.”

Another pause followed the response, Lord Crowley’s tall figure stepped in and closed the door quietly behind him until the latch clicked. Per routine, Lord Crowley did not look over to Aziraphale as he focussed on the fire, a mere smoulder in its hearth. Aziraphale rubbed his bleary eyes as he looked down at himself, distantly aware he should make himself presentable but found the notion too much to handle. Were his lord husband to scold him Aziraphale had little to defend with. The failure was on his part, after all. No attempt at propriety would change that.

If his lord husband was here to address what was discussed last night, well. Lack of propriety eliminated some time off that ordeal, he supposed with a faint sense of resignation.

A quiet sigh carried what sounded like a word as Lord Crowley’s broad shoulders dropped. With a wariness building in Aziraphale’s chest, his lord husband turned from the fire and came towards the bed. Aziraphale stiffened, hands twisted the covers as Lord Crowley stood at his side and looked down at him.

“How’d you sleep?”

Whether his lord husband meant to mock him or not, it should be clear he slept poorly. In a fit of defiance Aziraphale picked at a loose thread on one of the southern blankets and refused to respond.

From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale watched his lord husband pat the covers and sit, the bed dipping with his weight. Resisting the instinct to climb away, to flee, Aziraphale shifted his focus to the distance between them. Those long, gloved hands threaded over Lord Crowley’s lap as he sat there in a finer than usual ensemble of dark clothing, at odds with the powerful line of his body in such an awkward, informal position.

Neither of them spoke. Beyond the safety of Nusquam’s walls winter winds howled low, intermingled with the weak crackle of the fire’s dying embers. There was a moment of hesitation in the air before Lord Crowley took a slow breath.

“Would you like to come to the villages with me today?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he looked up, his lord husband’s handsome face pointedly expressionless.

He blinked. Whatever Aziraphale had expected, an invitation out had not been one of them. When words failed to come immediately Aziraphale looked towards the windows. A thick frost coated them from the slivers he saw through the curtains, but nothing more. Thoughts of braving a village full of people wholly unaware how much Aziraphale was despised by their lord exhausted him more than the long night.

Duty though, that’s what this marriage was about.

“Do you,” he delicately cleared his throat against the rasp his earlier crying caused. “Do you have errands to run or any, ah, lordship duties?” Lord Crowley typically waited until midweek to suggest a trip, since Aziraphale lacked courage to request it on his own.

Lord Crowley shook his head. “No. Just a trip down there.”

Unable to speak, Aziraphale cast his gaze down at the space between them. His lord husband shifted further onto the bed; an impossibly long leg stretched to the floor to keep himself balanced. Gloved fingers threaded together as his thumbs pressed against one another in an unfamiliar tension.

After what seemed to be an eternity, he untangled them to tug his dark spectacles off. In the dim light, Lord Crowley’s amber eyes gleamed at Aziraphale as a shudder, nothing to do with fear, dripped down his back.

They were as lovely as he remembered.

“A major holiday season starts today for Nusquam,” Lord Crowley paused to take another slow breath, as though steadying himself. “Planned to take you to see the annual lighting of the torches.”

There was a glance down at Aziraphale’s hands as they worried along the bedcovers and his own clenched in his lap.

“Supposed to be nice.”

Aziraphale stared. Despite Lord Crowley’s impassive tone, something different burned in those unobstructed eyes, a tension he’s never seen before in his defined jaw.

This was… this sounded almost like an apology.

A deep ache resonated through Aziraphale’s chest as he tore his eyes from his lord husband’s unblinking ones to stare down at the bedcovers in his grip. Aziraphale had every right to refuse, they both knew it. But another, softer part of him that longed for his lord husband also knew Lord Crowley expected a decline in invitation if by how deep the lines around his eyes were, the sombre, thin line of his lips.

What else could he do?

“Yes,” he whispered and Lord Crowley’s eyes widened ever so slightly, before fine lines creased their corners. A gloved hand came to rest on his covered knee, and he twitched but nothing else happened, just a thumb idly stroking a gentle line of soothing warmth. Not trusting his ability to tame his searing blush Aziraphale kept his eyes on the hand and not his lord husband, where that molten amber threatened to overwhelm him.

“We'll talk later, husband. For now take your time getting ready and I’ll tend to the fire,” Lord Crowley said in a light tone and slid off the bed. For a moment Aziraphale continued to rest there and let himself finish waking back up to the sounds of Lord Crowley at work and his own heart as it pounded a hard rhythm inside his chest.

A sharp crack of splitting tinder startled him and he threw aside the bedcovers, careful not to trip on the thick rugs underfoot as a renewed sense of energy flowed through his body.

He had a day to get started.

From the closet he pulled a pale blue shirtsleeves and his usual, well-worn waistcoat out. Without looking he reached for a bowtie and when he walked into the light, its delicate champagne tartan pattern shimmered in the firelight, matching his outfit perfectly.

A thumb slowly rubbed along the bowtie’s rich fabric as Aziraphale realised this was not one he brought from the south.

With one last, rather stunned glance at his lord husband, crouched in front of the hearth as he hauled another log over the fire, Aziraphale tugged his robe closer around him and slipped into the washroom. After last night, the call of a warm bath to languish in for hours fiercely tempted Aziraphale as soon as he stepped in. Still, he did not want to risk alienating his lord husband after the efforts he made, Aziraphale conceded. With a touch more vigour to his actions he washed and dried in record time, dressing himself with care to ensure he attempted to live up to his lord husband’s own refined appearance.

As always the running water was the perfect temperature when he splashed his face, let it flow over his skin and take with it his long, weary night. He took his time getting ready, made sure to run a comb underneath the gushing water as he tamed his embarrassingly mussed hair with more care than prior mornings. His comb’s slide paused when he looked at himself in the mirror, red-rimmed eyes darting over his slightly puffy face and dark circles.

The soft give of everything about him his family viewed as inadequate and undeserving of this northern lord.

“Enough,” he sighed to the humid air, heavy with the threat of his doubt. Even when faced with all he was and was not, Lord Crowley wanted to go with him. After last night his lord husband coming to request his presence was far more than he thought to hope for.

He even wanted to _talk_.

Aziraphale’s reflection stood up straighter, adjusted his gifted bowtie neatly. Talking. It was rather sudden given all that had occurred, but surely it had to mean something coming from his lord husband.

No matter what, Aziraphale intended on making the most of it.

When he emerged from the washroom, scrubbed clean and more himself than he has felt in days, the comfort of a fire reborn blazed throughout the room and he welcomed its warmth as he looked around.

There, before the bedroom’s hearth was Lord Crowley, gloved hands on his hips and his tall silhouette aglow. Breathless, he watched Lord Crowley turn from his accomplishment to Aziraphale, dark spectacles once again back in place but he did not mind. Not after all he’d seen swirl molten inside them moments ago. At the vision of his lord husband, earnest and unfailingly patient, Aziraphale dug deep inside and found his voice.

“I — Might we have time for tea before we depart?”

For the first time since they married, a smile lit up Lord Crowley’s face.

“Certainly.”


End file.
